The War Comes to Downton Abbey
by silverducks
Summary: As the first World War rages on, the lives of those at Downton Abbey will be forever changed. What happens to those left behind at the great estate? Mainly Mary/Matthew, but also including most series 1 characters.
1. Chapter 1

**May 1916**

That evening, like every other for the past year, they were eating dinner in the upstairs drawing room. It wasn't a big room, but ever since the house had been turned into a hospital, they'd had little choice. All the stately rooms had been turned into sick rooms and eating dinner in a dining room full of bleeding soldiers and the smell of sickness was not that conducive to ones appetite. So they'd been crammed in this little room; trying to eat and maintain some degree of dignity, some small element of the life they'd once lived. It wasn't easy, but at dinner they tried their best; eating and talking and pretending that things were very much as they ever had been. Before the hospital, before the war, before their lives started spinning out of control.

That evening though, their pretence was cut short by the sudden appearance of a young nurse at the open door. They weren't used to being disturbed at dinner, let alone by a lowly nurse. Her somewhat irrelevant knocking only jarred the peace and illusion of a few moments ago.

The nurse looked at them anxiously as she slowly entered the room, feeling their eyes watching her intently, as if waiting for her to stumble. Luckily she didn't, though she was so nervous she momentarily forgot the reason for her visit. It was her first time in front of the grand family and her first time upstairs in this great house. She'd seen them before of course, but never had she actually dared speak to them.

Since the hospital had invaded a year ago, there was an unwritten and unspoken agreement between the Crawleys and the hospital staff – they could have their run of the large stately rooms, the servant's quarters and the downstairs area, barring the kitchen of course. The upstairs area, well, that was reserved for the Crawleys. Only their household servants and high ranking hospital staff dare venture up there. They couldn't grumble too much though, despite all the frequent complaints from the new nurses. The Crawleys had, after all, been quite generous and accepting of their home being turned into a hospital. Well, most had been, though no one liked to comment on why the Dowager Countess' visits were so rare these days.

The news had been too important to wait though. The Matron had insisted that the news be taken at once to the family – there was no time to find an appropriate member of staff to rely the message. The nurse had volunteered to be the messenger immediately, not wanting to miss her first opportunity of seeing the grand people and the world they inhabited upstairs. Now that she stood in front of them though, her confidence waived. They were watching her attentively, soup spoons held expectantly at their mouths, silent as they awaited the news.

"An injured soldier has just been brought in, m'Lord," the nurse began, suddenly worried about whether she'd used the right address. She hadn't yet learnt all the proper ways to address these grand people whose home she now inhabited.

The family looked surprised at the news. Something was wrong, very wrong. It wasn't usual for the family to be told about a new soldier and certainly not at this time of night, at dinner! Soldiers came and went, so frequently nowadays, and no one like bothering the grand people upstairs and upsetting the ladies with bad news.

A thousand worried thoughts started to run through all their minds, echoing out in the troubled glances passing between them. None of them dared speak, dared voice their concerns, as if voicing their sudden dread would give it life. It swept through them still though, like an icy mist, filling them with fear and foreboding.

Mary herself felt it most keenly. Her heart started to pound as the icy mist of dread ran through her veins. She didn't dare think of what the news might be, but she couldn't deny the strange awareness that was sweeping over her, threatening to bring her world crashing down. She tried to prepare herself mentally, to steel her emotions away where they wouldn't betray her, not even to herself. She forced herself to take a deep breath and focused all her attention on the nurse in front of her.

The nurse shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, watching the grand people exchange stunned looks before turning to watch her intently again. Their penetrating eyes were making it difficult for her to speak.

"His name is Crawley, Sir," she eventually blurted out, before realising she'd been impolite in both her manner and address.

None of them cared about that though. The moment the words were out all the soup spoons hit the table with a cacophonous noise that echoed round the room, as loud as church bells after the sudden silence.

The ladies round the table gasped and Lord Grantham stood up immediately, "What's his first name!" He barked out, his countenance so fierce that the nurse cowered back in shock.

"Ma-Mathew m'Lord," she stammered out, before cowering back even further beneath his piercing gaze.

The name cut through the air like a knife to the heart. There was a moment of complete silence, the atmosphere in the air as hard as steel and as cold as ice. Time itself seem to freeze in place. Thousands of possibilities flew through their minds, each of them envisaging the worst.

Despite Mary mentally preparing herself, the sudden blow of hearing his name sent a searing shockwave of pain through her heart. She forgot to breathe as image after image bombarded her mind, of Matthew, her beloved Matthew, lying broken and bloodied, his once handsome face twisted beyond recognition.

"Is it our Matthew?" Her father asked suddenly, breaking the terrible silence with his urgent demand. It was a good question and one that had been on the edge of all their tongues. None of them questioned the use of the word _our_. After his departure, the whole family had felt the empty void where his warmth and humour had been. Despite their difficult beginnings and their very different outlooks on life, Matthew and his mother really had become a part of their family before the war started.

All eyes were turned to the nurse again, waiting for confirmation of their worst fears.

"We don't know m'Lord," the nurse answered, looking at them guiltily. Their reactions were as she'd feared and she herself felt somehow responsible for having to break it to them. She felt especially guilty because she could not answer the big important question. How could she? None of the hospital staff had ever seen this Matthew Crawley, though they'd certainly heard all about him. They all knew he was the heir to the estate, even though he wasn't Lord Grantham's son. That was why as soon as the soldier's name had become known, she'd been sent upstairs at once.

The answer did nothing to ease the dread that had seized them all, it only served to heighten it. None of them were sure what they wanted to hear – if it was _their_ Matthew, then he must be in a terrible state – the ashen face of the nurse told them that. If I wasn't Matthew though, it meant he was still out there, still fighting in the war, still not safe at Downton like he should be.

"How bad are the injuries?" Lord Grantham asked, quietly now, as the full horror of the situation started to set in.

The nurse shifted uncomfortably again, she'd been dreading this question; the one which she knew would only confirm all their worst fears.

"I've been told not to say, m'Lord."

Though the words came as no surprise to them, they were the final shock to their system. They all knew now that whoever this poor soldier was, his injuries and suffering must be vast. The soldiers who were brought here usually only suffered from mild injuries, or were in convalescence after being treated at the London or Home County hospitals. The journey up to Downton was long and those severely wounded wouldn't usually survive. There were exceptions of course, sometimes the southern hospitals were so much at breaking point, extreme measures had to be taken. Even for the more fortunate soldiers, the journey was fraught with problems and disease and infections spread far too easily.

For Mary, the words spurned her into action and she jumped up from her chair at once. "Where is he?" She demanded, trying to remember how to breathe.

"In the great hall m'Lady," was the nurse's reply. She looked sadly at the grand lady. Everyone knew the rumours between the heir and the Lord's eldest daughter. This beautiful lady's reaction to the news only confirmed the truthfulness within them.

Mary wasn't after the nurse's sympathy though, or that of any of her family as they all shot worried glances at her. There was only one thing Mary could think of right now, only one thing she could do. She had to find out if the injured soldier lying battered downstairs was indeed her beloved Matthew.

With not a word or a glance at anyone, Mary hurried out of the room, her terror increasing with every step she took.

The family watched her leave, before looking awkwardly between them. Lady Grantham was the first to dare speak. "Shall we send for cousin Isobel?" She asked softly, her own maternal instincts kicking in. Even with only daughters, she could clearly imagine what all mothers with sons at war were going through – the dread that must fill their hearts every time any news appeared. Though she'd always resented not having a son, this war had taught her just how lucky she was.

"No," Lord Grantham answered quickly, "we'll wait and see if it's Matthew first." As he was besieged with questioning looks, he continued softly, trying to sound light heartened. "No point worrying her unnecessarily."

Yes, they all could agree to that. Their own dread was so raw; they couldn't even begin to imagine what cousin Isobel would feel. The worst was not knowing, they all felt that. Not knowing the extent of the injuries and, above all, not knowing if it was indeed the right Matthew Crawley. Mistakes were often made now, too many soldiers were brought in, names, documents, items; they could all get lost, forgotten, misread. The poor soldier might not even be a Matthew, or a Crawley!

They had to find out though. That was uppermost in their minds. After exchanging a few more troubled glances, they all walked out of the room. Their paces steady, controlled, their voices silent as each became too consumed by the riot of possibilities that chased around their own thoughts.

No one spoke to the nurse, no one even remembered she was there. She crept back against the wall as the grand family walked away, their countenance morbidly reminiscent of a funeral march.

* * *

Mary was glad of the head start her family gave her. She felt safer away from their concerned looks and unspoken worries. Her footsteps were fast as she left the room and headed towards the great hall, but the nearer she got to the staircase, the more fear started to hold her back. As long as she didn't see him, there was still a small part of her that could imagine it wasn't him or that he wasn't that brutally injured. Her paced slowed as she reached the stairs and she paused completely at the top. She leant over and watched the chaos that was ensuing beneath her. The hall was littered with beds, bodies and blood.

The hall was usually relatively quiet, with the soldiers beds kept mainly in the stately rooms. Sometimes though, when a large transport of soldiers arrived, the rooms overflowed and soldiers were left in the hall, waiting to be seen and treated.

There was a significant bustle around one of the stretchers; a crowd of nurses and also the doctor. Mary knew this was the soldier, the one named Matthew Crawley. She couldn't see anything past the crowd of heads, so with a more determined step, she continued down the great stairs.

Never before had this journey filled Mary with such trepidation, never before had the outcome of this walk left her life in such a perilous balance. She forced herself to focus on each step, to try to push out the fears that were continually plaguing her. She knew if she stopped for too long, if she let herself give in to the dread assailing her, she would lose control and break down completely.

There were no household staff around, no one who would know if the soldier was indeed her Matthew. No one she could catch the eye of and read the news in the possible horror on their face. Yet Mary was oddly comforted by this, the knowledge that she would not know through anyone else but herself. That she would not know until she saw the soldier's face. It gave her the much needed time now to compose herself, prepare for the worst. It was a strange sort of luxury.

Of course she'd been expecting this – ever since she'd last seen him at the train station nearly 2 years ago, she'd dreaded the day when it would come. A letter; a telegraph; a rumour that something had happened to Matthew. Every morning when the post had appeared; every time cousin Isobel came through the door; her heart had skipped a beat, wondering if today was the day when her life would change. For the last two years, she felt like she'd been living on a knife edge, that any moment she would fall and her life, her heart, would be cut in two.

For Mary, the most frustrating part was that she couldn't do anything. All she could do was wait; wait to hear whatever scrap of news she could about him, usually from the letters he wrote to her father and cousin Isobel. He never wrote to her of course, he had no reason to after the way things had ended between them. Even in the letters he sent to her father, she was barely mentioned – usually just grouped together with her sisters. She'd written to him a few times, full of politeness and civility, teasing and laughter, like there used to be between them. No reply had ever been sent and that pained her more than she dared think about.

She knew it didn't do to dwell on the past, not when the stark reality of the present and its implications for her future lay so precariously in front of her. Yet now, when she may be about to see him again, scenes from their turbulent past together played through her mind. All those times when they laughed and joked together, when he flirted with her and watched her from across the room. The times when he had somehow managed to make her admit things she'd never dare tell anyone. Then there was the time he had kissed her, kissed her so passionately and proposed!

Oh, what a fool she'd been! Ever since he'd enlisted she'd blamed herself for her own stupidity and fear. Why had she waited so long to accept him? Why had she been so afraid to commit herself to him when she knew she loved him? Why couldn't she have mustered the courage to tell him about the ill-fated night she shared with Kamal Pamuk?

She shook her head hard as she reached the bottom of the stairs, forcing the painful memories away. It didn't do to question what had happened back then, it wouldn't do her or Matthew any good now. She had to stay in control, to be strong, no matter what the outcome. With more determined steps now, she walked towards the crowd of nurses, trying her best to keep her head held high and the tears at bay.

They all looked up and quietened when they heard her footsteps. They all knew who she was and what this soldier may mean to her. They didn't say a word as they parted before her, allowing Mary a clear view of the stretcher where he lay. Whoever this soldier was, he was in a poor state. Even from some distance away, Mary could see the blood soaked bandages and the body racked with fever.

The shock of seeing the body, even this far away, was enough to freeze Mary in her tracks. She struggled to compose herself, to force herself to continue forward, to find out if this soldier was indeed her beloved Matthew. She didn't know what she hoped for, what outcome would be best. If it was Matthew, then he was in a bad way, his life hanging in the balance. At least though she'd see him, look upon his face one last time. If it was not Matthew, Mary knew she'd still feel no relief, that the horror wasn't over and that Matthew was certainly far from safe. He may even be worse off, lying in a ditch somewhere in the battlefields of Normandy, far away from his home.

Quelling the sudden urge to retch, Mary drew every scrap of resolve she could muster, drew on all her years of experience at acting the strong and heartless ice queen. Never had she been so grateful of the strong will and self control she'd taught herself as she was at this moment.

With one final deep breath, she forced herself to walk forward, to pass the silent nurses with their worried, sympathetic looks. She _had_ to ignore their faces; she didn't dare read the hopelessness she knew she'd see in their eyes. She focused instead on the bed in front of her, using it like a beacon of light to keep her walking forward.

She reached the bed too soon, far too soon. She wasn't ready. She couldn't look. She didn't dare find out which side of the precipice she would fall. Yet she knew she had too, that she had no choice. With a final prayer, she forced herself to look down at the face of the soldier lying on the bloody sheets.

* * *

_NB - I'd love to know what you think, so please leave a review. This is the first fan fiction I've ever written, so I hope it's okay!_

_I hope to add a lot more chapters to continue the story, focusing mainly on Mary and Matthew, but hopefully on some other characters too. I apologise in advance for my somewhat OTT and melodramatic narrative! :-)_


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as she saw his face, Mary knew that it was indeed her Matthew, her beloved Matthew. Even with his face covered in bruises and blood soaked bandages, she'd recognise his handsome features anywhere. She could tell immediately his injuries were bad, very bad. His face was a mass of cuts and bruises, his right arm twisted horribly and there was a deep gash on his left. The wound was red and raw, oozing blood and puss which were barely held in by the thick, rough stitches. His soldier's uniform was muddy and ripped, revealing more cuts and bruises on his feverish skin. His right leg was the worst though. It was clearly broken, with the splintered bone jutting out of the bloody wound in a mass of white and red. It was enough to turn Mary's stomach, yet it was not the worst sight. Mary was most frightened by the look in Matthew's eyes. His piercing blue eyes, usually so full of life and laughter, were frantic, crazed, haunted by the deep fever which gripped his body and mind.

Mary looked into those feverish eyes for what felt like an eternity, desperately trying to come to terms with the harsh reality before her. Then, just for a moment, the space of a heartbeat, she thought she noticed a moment of recognition in them. It was as if for a brief instant, the fever that was racking his brain had subsided and he had _seen_ her. It lasted only a mere heartbeat, but it shattered Mary's resolve completely.

"No…" She cried out and quickly held her hand to her mouth to stifle the words of grief that threatened to overcome her. The tears started stinging in her eyes and her heart was ripped in two, the pain searing through her veins like white hot silver. She didn't want to accept it, didn't want to acknowledge that her worst nightmare was now before her. Yet when she'd seen the real Matthew in those crazed eyes, the true horror of his condition had struck her to the core. She could no longer pretend, no longer hope that it wasn't her beloved Matthew lying there, his body hideously distorted and his life hanging on so precariously to the present.

Mary staggered back, away from his broken body, away from the terrible reality of his injuries. She forgot to breathe, her heart stopped beating and the shock sent every brick in her carefully constructed emotional fortress crashing down. She couldn't contain the agony and torment any more and she started to collapse. Her knees gave way and she would have struck the floor if, at that moment, her father hadn't appeared behind her. He protectively put his arm on her back, holding her up, keeping her standing.

She looked up suddenly, dazed, blinking as the world came into focus again around her. She saw her sisters and mother approaching warily behind her father, their faces grave as the realisation slowly dawned on them, filling them all with unspeakable terror. They didn't need to see Matthew's face to know it was him, Mary's reaction had said it all.

The nurses, who had been watching Mary silently, moved further out of the way to allow the family nearer. They stepped closer, their footsteps slow, measured, as they approached the stretcher where Matthew lay. Behind them, a group of servants had also gathered, drawn nearer by the morbid fascination of the tragedy unfolding before them.

"Oh my goodness," Cora exclaimed as she caught sight of Matthew's body, of the horrendous injuries that had befallen him. She started to sway, feeling her legs collapse under her as she began falling to the floor. Robert saw her reaction and strode away from his daughter towards Cora, catching her just in time and pulling her upward. He then wrapped his arms tightly around his wife and Cora buried her face in his chest, both of them drawing comfort and strength from each other.

In the same moment, Sybil let out a cry and fell on the floor beside Matthew. She wanted to grasp his hand, to give him comfort, but the unnaturally twisted arm told her at once it was broken. Instead she started to cry, the tears falling unashamedly down her face as Edith watched above her. She herself was stronger than Sybil and she thought back her own desire to cry as she tried to stand tall.

When Mary's father had caught her as she'd nearly collapsed, she'd felt her own courage returning. It gave her the strength to stand, to hold back her own tears and cries of anguish. The sight of her family's grief had also filled her with a strange sort of comfort, as if she could live out her own colossal despair through them; mix in her own held back tears in those her sister and mother shed. It helped ground her to reality and gave her the much needed strength to push down her own horror and fear, her own pain and anguish.

"Send for Mrs Crawley at once!" Lord Grantham commanded over his wife's shoulder, catching site of Mr Carson, who was lingering behind with the other servants.

"Yes my Lord," he answered quickly, bowing his head and hurrying off to complete his task, relieved to finally have a way to help.

"How bad is he?" Cora asked the doctor softly, as she pulled away from her husband and stepped towards her daughter Sybil. Gently, she bent down and drew Sybil slowly to her feet, before enclosing her protectively in her arms.

The doctor looked down at the soldier and sighed. He knew now that this injured soldier was indeed Matthew Crawley, Lord Grantham's heir and the future custodian of this grand estate. He hated to lie, but he also hated to give such bad news to such distraught people. He wasn't used to dealing with families, it was perhaps the only perk he knew of when it came to working with soldiers – he didn't know the patient _or_ their families. Here he knew the latter and, after seeing their devastated reactions, he found it hard to think as professionally as he would otherwise.

"It's not good I'm afraid m'Lord," he finally answered, deciding to go with the direct, though terrible, truth. "The injuries shouldn't be life threatening. The problem is the fever. He's very weak and the fever has taken a strong hold."

"Will he be alright?" Sybil suddenly asked, looking up from her mother's embrace.

Doctor Morris sighed again. Yes, he definitely hated dealing with grief stricken families. Normally the family were only told the news after all was known, via a letter which he himself did not have to write. He wasn't used to this and had to pick his words carefully. "If he can survive the fever, then I'm sure he will recover from his injuries." When he saw this did nothing to calm the girl, he continued, "We'll know by the morning, the fever should have broken by then."

The girl still wasn't comforted and she buried her head in her mother's shoulder, hiding the tears that were still falling from her eyes.

The doctor turned again to Lord Grantham, "To be quite frank, m'Lord, he never should have been brought here. The journey no doubt brought on the fever and his wounds have been terribly ill treated." He made an obvious show of looking at the soldier's wounds, with the unprofessional stitches and the useless wooden splint that had been tied around the broken leg. Everyone's eyes followed the doctors and the hideous injuries that Matthew had sustained once again turned their stomachs. It wasn't the worse though, they all knew that now. If the doctor was more concerned about a fever than the horrific mass of twisted bone and mangled blood and tissue, it could mean only one thing, the fever was life threatening.

"Shall I send for Dr Clarkson?" Lord Grantham asked the doctor hesitantly, not wanting to cause offence.

Doctor Morris looked at the lord suddenly, his pride hurt at the somewhat impertinent question. Whilst he had grown to respect Dr Clarkson in the year he'd worked at the hospital, to suggest another doctor be called now seemed a slight on his reputation. Yet, one look at Lord Grantham showed him his fears were unfounded – his face was ghostly white and the doctor could see how hard he was trying to keep himself together for the sake of his family. He knew Dr Clarkson had been the family's doctor for years and that his presence would give them comfort and heaven knows they needed as much as they could get right now!

"Yes, I think that might be an idea," Dr Morris answered. Then, to help salve his pride, he continued, "Dr Clarkson can look after Mr Crawley and I can attend to these other soldiers." He looked pointedly around at all the other soldiers who had been brought in. None of them were nearly half as badly off as this poor fellow, but they would all need his attention soon.

Lord Grantham nodded as he looked around for a household servant and was relieved to see Mrs Hughes. "Please send for Dr Clarkson."

"Certainly m'Lord," Mrs Hughes replied, nodding her head in acceptance of the command and looking exceedingly pale. She paused for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to say anything to the family, trying to find some words of comfort or sympathy. She thought better of it though and disappeared off to find someone to send the message to Dr Clarkson.

Cora had listened carefully to the doctors words and, as his eyes had roamed around the room, looking at the other soldiers, so had Cora's. There were at least a dozen of them, scattered around the hall in makeshift stretchers, their plight all but forgotten in the chaos of the arrival of Downton's heir. They didn't look so badly off as Matthew though, Cora thought. He looked so pale, so ill, lying on the stretcher below her and she couldn't bare the thought of him being around all these other injured soldieries. Just their cries of pain and pleadings for help were enough to drive Cora again to the depths of despair. Matthew himself was relatively quiet, with just the odd moan of pain as the fever continued to grip his body.

"He can't stay here!" Cora suddenly said, indignantly. "We can't leave the heir of Downton in the hall to… to…" She didn't finish the sentence, she couldn't, but they all knew what she'd been about to say.

"Would he be able to stay in one of our guest rooms?" Robert asked the doctor quietly.

The doctor was surprised for a moment. Never before had the great Crawley family allowed a soldier upstairs! Dr Morris was reminded again that this was no ordinary soldier and he thought for a moment about the question. In his medical opinion, he knew it would be better for the injured soldier to stay here, where he and the nurses could keep an eye on him. He was just about to say this, but he paused when he saw again how distressed the grand family were, how important this young soldier was to them all. With a sigh, he decided to put the family above the well being of the soldier, knowing they would find comfort in looking after him as best they could. Besides, it would mean the grand family, and the soldier who was causing such commotion in the hallway, would be out of the way.

"Yes," the doctor finally concluded, "he would be much more comfortable in a proper bed. I or Dr Clarkson can treat him just as well up there."

"Have a bed made up at once!" Cora demanded, releasing her grip on Sybil so she could find a servant to carry out her command.

Mrs Hughes, who had just reappeared, immediately took charge. "Yes m'Lady. May I suggest the Blue guest room?"

Cora nodded, not really caring what room they put poor Matthew in, more concerned with getting him away from this hall full of pain and suffering.

Mrs Hughes bowed her head and disappeared, calling after a few of the housemaids as she went.

With no other questions now posed to him, the doctor looked down and began examining the soldier's wounds again. Everyone in the room was watching him and he'd never felt his work so on display before. It was making him nervous and preventing him from thinking straight. The sooner they moved this poor soldier, whose torment had become a spectacle for both the hospital staff and the servants, so much the better!

Mary had watched all this as if through a glass mirror. She felt separate somehow, distance, as if she had detached herself from reality, closed her mind and heart to the horrific truth. She'd listened carefully to the doctors words, had allowed her mind to comprehend them, digest them, before shutting them away inside herself. It was the only way she knew to cope, the only way she had kept her tears at bay, but she knew she was one thread away from a breakdown. Before she had seen Matthew, before she had heard the doctor's stark and brutal diagnosis, she'd had hope. Back then, she'd thought nothing was worse than not knowing, but now she only wished she was still on the stairs, looking down on the havoc and not understanding quite how terrifying cruel the reality truly was.

She'd tried hard not to look at Matthew again, to not allow herself to see his grotesque injuries and his haunted eyes. Instead she'd focused on the doctor, listened carefully to his analysis and watched the drama unfold around her. Yet when the doctor began examining Matthew's broken leg, and, with no other distractions offering themselves to her, she found herself watching in morbid fascination. Mary now couldn't look away from the hideous whiteness of the splintered bone against the redness of blood and sinew.

The doctor's face looked increasingly troubled as he tended to the wound and, after only a few moments, he declared, "I think we may have to amputate his leg."

The shock that went around the room was enough to silence even the most talkative of the nurses. The words seem to echo around the great hall, falling on the already shattered hearts of the family and obliterating their control completely. Cora quickly grabbed hold of Sybil again, hoping to prevent both of them from collapsing under the weight of this new horror. Mary went white with shock and amazed even herself when she suddenly jumped around and turned on the doctor.

"You can't do that!" She almost shouted, "You can't amputate his leg!"

"Mary, it's alright," were her father's kind and soft words, but they fell on deaf ears. Mary knew it wouldn't be alright. If they amputated his leg, Matthew would never be able to walk properly again, he'd never be able to ride that deplorable bicycle of his! She'd always thought it was incredibly uncivilised, but now the idea that she'd never see him riding it again was making her desperate, pushing her yet again to the brink of destruction.

"Please doctor, don't," Mary cried, just about resisting the urge to grab the doctor and start shaking him. She was getting hysterical, she knew that, knew that the emotions she'd been pushing back for so long were washing over into her sanity, easily shattering the flimsy walls she'd continually tried to rebuild tonight.

The doctor took a step back, not quite sure how to cope with this panic stricken lady in front of him. It was not something he'd ever experienced before. He tried his best to sound calm and authoritative, though he felt quite the opposite. "I'm afraid I have no choice, the wound will get infected and septicaemia or gangrene may set in." The doctor paused for a moment and tried his best to look into the desperate eyes of the lady, hoping he could make her see reason. "If we don't amputate his leg, he may die anyway from the injury and…" The doctor paused again, not sure how much information he dare divulge.

Mary had stopped listening though; there was no point in trying to get through to the doctor. He didn't know Matthew; he wouldn't understand how devastated Matthew would be when he knew. The fact that Matthew may not even make it through the night was now no longer a concern for Mary. He would survive and she'd make darn sure he did so fully intact!

"Please papa," Mary begged, turning to her father who she hoped would understand her plight. "He wouldn't be able to walk again, or ride his bicycle or…" Mary stopped talking then as the tears started to burst force over her. Her control had shattered completely and for a moment she let her father wrap his arms around her in comfort. He said gently, "I'm sorry, Mary, we don't have a choice."

This was not acceptable to Mary, she couldn't let them do it, she had to stop them! As her anger and innate stubbornness kicked in, she pulled away from her father. She wanted to hit him, to hit the doctor, to scream to the roof tops and let out her frustration, her anguish, her pain. She wanted to damn all creation for what they had done to her poor Matthew. She knew she was one breath away from an absolute and total breakdown, one heartbeat away from letting the hysteria claim her completely. Here, in the great hall, with all the family watching, and the servants and hospital staff, Mary was about to slip into madness.

That knowledge was the last straw for Mary. She wouldn't do it, she wouldn't break apart, not here, not with everyone watching. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction, the spectacle, the gossip. She had to be stronger than this; she had to find her control, her reason, her sanity. Not just for her sake, but for her beloved Matthew's. What good would it do for him if she fell to pieces now? It wouldn't save him and that was far more important.

She struggled for a few moments, trying hard to push down all her tears, fears and frustrations. Building up the walls that had tumbled down, building them higher and higher and hiding all her emotions away behind them. She strengthened them with every ounce of her being, every piece of her heart and soul. She wouldn't let them fall down again, she couldn't – Matthew's life was at stake!

With her renewed determination to stay calm, she found herself thinking of a solution, a way to save poor Matthew. "Perhaps we can wait and ask Cousin Isobel," Mary suggested, pleading with her father, hoping he could see that she was much calmer now, see the wisdom and sense in her words.

"Mary, I don't think…" Robert started, but the look of hopelessness that crushed Mary's face caused him to stop. He looked around at his family. What a mess they all looked, so pale and scared, each trying hard to hold back the tears. His wife and youngest daughter were clinging to each other and his two eldest were fighting hard just to stay standing. He looked at Mary then; saw how close she was to losing control and how important this was to her. It was important to him too, he didn't want to see Matthew crippled for life. Yet he also knew that Matthew's life was more important and, unlike his daughter, he understood that the chance might just not be worth taking. Finally he looked at the doctor, deciding to leave the decision to him.

As he caught the lord's eye, the doctor groaned inwardly. He'd had enough of these tough decisions tonight, he'd had enough of having to weigh up his professional judgement against the overbearing grief of the family that surrounded him. Yet he knew his own agitation and annoyance were nothing to what this family were feeling and soon what the poor soldier's mother would feel. For at the mention of Mrs Crawley's name, the doctor was reminded of just who this injured soldier was – none other than Isobel Crawley's son!

Despite their somewhat frosty beginnings, Dr Morris had come to admire Mrs Crawley greatly and had learned to value her opinion highly. She didn't deserve this, not after how hard she'd worked at the hospital, often working all through the night when things were busy. He knew how much Isobel loved her son, how proud she was of him. She deserved some say in what became of his fate, especially when the depth of her own medical knowledge and expertise often greatly surprised the doctor.

He made a small show of looking put out, not wanting them to notice that he was secretly relieved that the decision would not now be his.

"It is in Mr Crawley's best interest to amputate the leg now, as I see no way it can be saved," the doctor began. After the shocked gasps and Mary's protests had quietened, he continued, "But as long as Mrs Crawley arrives soon, I see no harm in allowing her to reach the same conclusion as myself."

"Thank you, thank you!" Mary gushed at the doctor, unable to stop herself as the relief she felt overcame her. She knew it was only a small step, the first battle she'd won in the war to save Matthew, but it filled her with hope, with a renewed sense of purpose, for she knew that Cousin Isobel would not let Matthew's leg be amputated.

"The room is ready m'Lady," Mrs Hughes said, coming back into the hall and speaking to Lady Grantham. Her sudden entrance after such a tense drama startled them all.

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes," Cora nodded at the housekeeper, gently releasing Sybil from her arms and stepping forward towards Matthew. "May we take him upstairs now?"

The doctor hoped he hadn't looked too relieved at this news. He tried to keep his voice measured, professional as he said, "Yes, let's get him somewhere more comfortable."

The sudden commotion and movement was the tonic they all needed to distract them for their fears. Lord Grantham quickly took charge of the situation and called over a few servants who were still standing around gawping. They were only females, as all the young men had gone off to war themselves. Still, they would have to do.

Lord Grantham and the servants then led the way, carrying between them the stretcher containing Matthew's wrecked and fever ridden body. The doctor issued a few orders to the nurses to follow and bring equipment as they continued up the grand staircase.

They were followed silently and ominously by the family, each one now lost in their own thoughts and fears, their own horror and grief. The doctor's words still haunted them, reminding them that it wasn't his injuries that could be the death of him, but this fever. The fever that still tore through Matthew's body; driving his mind to insanity and keeping his very existence hanging so precariously in the balance.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a very sombre atmosphere in the servants hall that night. The news about the new soldier had spread like wild fire around the servants and the hospital staff. Normally hospital gossip had all the tongues wagging, but this time it was very different. This time most of the servants knew the poor soldier and those that did not quickly learnt of his importance for the great estate. Not only were the servants worried for the man's life and the family's grief, but also for their own futures. They all knew what turmoil the future of Downton Abbey would be thrown into if anything happened to its heir.

So it was with silent prayers and fears that the servants began their tasks once more, Mr Carson ushering them away from the great hall and the spectacle that had unfolded there. Whilst they completed their chores with a greater sense of urgency than they had ever felt before, there was a foreboding silence filling them all. It ran through their minds and hearts with ice cold dread and it cut down their usual light hearted chatter and jokes. They bustled about, full of energy and direction, but their hearts were sad and their thoughts were melancholy as they remembered the scene that had unfolded and the vastness of its implications for this great estate.

They'd all gathered and watched as the Crawley family had seen the wounded soldier. There was a sort of macabre fascination with watching such a disturbing scene, watching such a grand family react to the horror and panic that had befallen them. It was a scene never witnessed before and it reminded all the servants that the grand family, who inhabited life in their own upstairs world, were just as human as they were; their own lives just as fragile.

Tragedy was not new to the hospital though. Since the nurses, the wounded soldiers and the subsequent calamity had arrived, the house had seen its fair share of misfortune. Whilst most soldiers who came here were already well on their way to recovery, there were always the few who didn't manage to pull through, who's injuries proved too severe or became besieged with infection and disease. Never before had the tragedy been so close to home though and never before had a soldier's life held the great estate itself in such a precarious balance.

It was these thoughts that plagued them as they set to work, carrying out the new responsibilities they'd adopted since the hospital had invaded. Just like the great house, the hospital had its own systems, its own rules and its own way of doing things. The servants had no choice but to quickly learn and adjust to them. Not only did they have to cope with the loss of so many of the male servants to the war, but the extra, demanding work of the hospital seemed never ending. Whilst for the servants their work for the household always came first, whenever they had any spare time, indeed often when they did not, they were expected to work in the hospital. A few of the younger girls had taken well to nursing and the scullery maids were pushed ever harder in their duties. Water, food and bandages were often carted upstairs to the stately rooms and laundry and cleaning were constantly waiting to be completed. It didn't help that the servants quarters themselves were now very crowded, the rooms full of extra beds to accommodate the new nurses and other hospital workers. Tensions were often high amongst the hospital staff and the servants and both tried to avoid each other as best they could.

The two cooks, Mrs Patmore and Mrs Bird, liked to think they felt the most strain from the hospital invasion. They had to work together to provide food and drink for not only the grand family, but all the servants, soldiers and hospital workers. It seemed a never ending and thankless job and the poor scullery maids usually felt the brunt of the cooks' frustrations and stress.

Anna knew how hard the poor scullery maids worked compared to her and whenever she could find the time she would help out her friend Daisy. They had grown closer since Gwen left and even more so now that Daisy had been moved into Anna's room. With the new arrival of soldiers, especially one so grievously ill, the work would be considerable for poor Daisy and Anna headed towards the servants hall to find out what she could do to help.

It was with a heavy heart that Anna walked back to the servants hall though. She'd only seen Mr Crawley's injuries from a distance, but even she could tell they were severe. None of the servants had ever seen the family so distressed before, so grief stricken, so distraught. Anna knew it affected Lady Mary most keenly though, knew that the lady cared deeply for the heir to Downton. She had been so close to a breakdown, so close to shattering under the weight of her anguish that Anna was terrified for her. She was always so strong, so confident and Anna knew that the real Lady Mary often hid behind her cold, unfeeling façade. Inside was a warm, beating, passionate heart and Anna could see how much it had broken tonight. Anna's own heart bled for Lady Mary's plight and that of the entire family. Heaven knows how the family would cope if Mr Crawley did not pull through and Anna knew that Lady Mary would never fully recover.

So lost in her own melancholy thoughts was Anna, that she did not notice Daisy at first. In fact, Anna nearly stumbled into her as she entered the servants hall. Daisy didn't seem to notice her either; she was standing there, her eyes distance as her mind drifted elsewhere. They were all used to Daisy's daydreams, but this time her face was saddened, distressed, anxious.

"What is it Daisy?" Anna asked the scullery maid gently.

"I… I was just thinkin' about Mr Crawley," Daisy answered, "lyin' up there so hurt an' dyin' an' all." Daisy paused for a moment, still looking into the distance. "It makes me think of poor William, out on the battlefields, lyin' somewhere hurt."

Anna saw how upset Daisy was and tenderly put her arm around her. She wanted to give the poor girl a hug, but she didn't want to draw the other servants' attention.

"You know William's alright though, don't you Daisy?" Anna asked quietly. "He writes to you often and he always tells you how well he's doing."

Anna had hoped her question would help comfort Daisy, but it seemed to have quite the opposite effect. Daisy started to cry and Anna gave her a hug after all.

After a few sobs, Daisy managed to stutter, "I… I've not heard from him. He usually writes a least once a week and it's been nearly 2!" She then quickly buried her head in Anna's shoulder and Anna gently stroked her back, soothing her.

The news was troubling to Anna, she knew how sweet on Daisy William was, everyone did. They all remembered how he'd worked up the courage before he left for France and had nervously asked Daisy if he could write to her. Daisy had never seemed so happy as she urged him quite strongly that he could and how much she would look forward to every one. Since then, he'd written regularly and Daisy was always so giddy when she received them. If William had not written recently, it could not be good news.

Trying to make her voice sound much more positive than she felt, Anna said "I'm sure his letter is just delayed Daisy. It is a long way to France from here you know." Anna pulled away from Daisy and looked into her eyes, trying to smile, "Or else he's just too busy being a hero and he's gotten a bit behind."

Daisy smiled at those words as Anna hoped she would. Daisy was often talking about William's heroic actions, retelling all the brave battle stories from his letters. For Daisy, William might well be the only one fighting in the Great War.

"Now dry your eyes Daisy, before Mrs Patmore sees you," Anna urged her kindly, smiling cheerfully now.

"You're right, I'm sure his letter is just late," Daisy said, brightening up as she quickly used her pinafore to wipe her tears.

It was well timed too, for at that moment Mrs Patmore appeared in the doorway, wearing her usual expression of irritation mixed with stress and the faint hint of panic. When she saw Daisy's teary eyes her expression softened, though her words were still hard. "There you are Daisy! What the blazers are you doing standing around feeling sorry for yourself! Do you want the soldiers to die of starvation?"

"No Mrs Patmore," Daisy answered, cowering back ever so slightly behind the great and somewhat fierce bulk of Mrs Patmore.

"Then stop pretending you're auditioning for the stage and get back to work!" Mrs Patmore barked as she then turned around and headed back towards the kitchen.

"Yes Mrs Patmore," Daisy said as she followed, glancing at Anna as she went. Anna did her best to give her an encouraging smile and was pleased to see Daisy smile back.

Anna watched Daisy as she left the room and happened to catch the eye of Mr Bates, who had just come in. Anna tried to give him a friendly smile, but he quickly turned away. Anna's smile slipped and her melancholy thoughts washed back into her mind. He was heading towards the end of the servants hall and Anna knew she had to get his attention quick.

"Is there any news Mr Bates?" Anna asked, trying hard not to show how his slight had affected her.

"I'm afraid not Anna," Mr Bates answered, turning towards her, his face sombre and grave. "He has been brought upstairs and we are now waiting for his mother and Dr Clarkson to arrive." With that Mr Bates turned away and walked down the hall, before Anna had chance to think of a reply.

Anna watched him walk away, her heart growing heavier with his every step. Ever since she'd visited his mother in London, nearly two years ago now, Mr Bates had been distance towards her. Civil, courteous, sometimes friendly, but always distance, always so sad and downhearted. Anna knew Mr Bates didn't blame her for visiting his mother and finding out the truth, yet, no matter how hard Anna tried, Mr Bates would not open up to her any more.

She knew Mr Bates was trying to protect her, trying to encourage her to move on as he was not a free man, but she couldn't. As she told him once, there was no better man and she loved him dearly. The noble way he tried to protect her, tried to shield her feelings, only made her heart love him more. Whenever he avoided her, or quickly cut short their conversations, Anna felt the deep pain in her heart. She tried not to show it though, as she didn't want Mr Bates to know how much more his noble actions hurt her.

It did not help that they didn't see much of each other any more. His Lordship was often called to London for business with the war office and, as valet, Mr Bates would always travel with him. Anna knew how much Mr Bates enjoyed these visits and suspected that his Lordship took Mr Bates along for more than just company. His Lordship seemed to sense that Mr Bates needed this occupation, some way of being connected to the war, some way of helping. For Anna knew Mr Bates was greatly troubled about his limp and the limitations it caused him. She knew his fierce moral code and noble, almost devout sense of duty made him want to fight for his country again. Yet he couldn't, the limp that had scarred him from the previous war was preventing him from fighting in this one. He'd found his own way of coping with his silent frustrations though. When he wasn't busy, or down in London with his Lordship, he could often be found in the house's hospital. His limp meant he could not help with the manual work, and he had no training in nursing, but he did have experience of war. He seemed to find comfort and contentment in sitting with the wounded soldiers; reading to them, sharing stories of war and providing them with hope and peace. Anna knew that Mr Bates often derived as much comfort from this small work as the wounded soldiers.

Anna did not like it when Mr Bates visited London though. It filled her heart with such worry. She knew he was safe enough in London, but the thought that his Lordship's business might one day take himself and Mr Bates across the Channel filled her with dread. Now that the horror of the war had been brought so suddenly to Downton tonight, Anna found her worries increase ten fold. Try as she might, she couldn't help but imagine Mr Bates lying there in Mr Crawley's place, wounded and dying, broken and bleeding…

"My goodness Anna," Mrs Hughes suddenly exclaimed, coming into the servants hall from upstairs and finding Anna standing there, lost in thought. "It's not like you to stand around dawdling when there's work to be done."

Anna suddenly jumped around to face Mrs Hughes. She'd been so consumed by her own worries she hadn't noticed the housekeepers arrival.

"I'm sorry Mrs Hughes," she apologised quickly, standing up straight and pushing her melancholy thoughts away.

"Heavens child!" Mrs Hughes continued, "I know we are all upset about Mr Crawley, but you cannot do much to help if you just stand around gawping like a scullery maid. Please go up to the hall and see if they need any help. If not, then go upstairs and see what you can do to help there."

"Yes Mrs Hughes," Anna answered, surprised at the sharp tone in Mrs Hughes' voice. Anna knew that the housekeeper was constantly under a great deal of pressure, but Mrs Hughes usually seemed so controlled and contained, so calm and collected. She'd adapted quickly to the changes the house had undergone in the last two years and her stern, yet friendly ability to maintain order and command made Anna admire her greatly. Tonight though, like all the servants, Mrs Hughes was feeling the great strain of the situation, worrying not only about the heir, but the effects it would have on the whole family and the great estate that was their work and their home.

Feeling guilty for her own dark, selfish thoughts and misery, she quickly hurried towards the great hall, resisting the urge to take one last glance at Mr Bates as she left.

As Anna entered the great hall, the first thing she noticed was the silence that had recently surrounded the room. It was thick and tense and she knew immediately something had happened. Suddenly fearing the worst she rushed forwards towards the gathering of servants and nurses. They were all looking towards the main entrance and Anna could see a lonely figure standing there. The lady looked troubled, worried, though her stature was strong and controlled. The lady was looking around her, trying to find someone she knew, someone she trusted. She caught Anna's eye and stepped forward, her footsteps slow, steady and determined, her head held high.

"Anna?" The lady asked, her voice restrained, tight, her countenance strong yet appearing so very fragile, so ready to break. "Please take me to see my son."


	4. Chapter 4

Isobel Crawley did not know how she managed to walk up the stairs that night. Each step she took filled her with more and more trepidation and terror, more and more desperation and dread. The kind housemaid Anna offered Isobel her arm, but she refused. Not for fear of appearing weak, but from her own need to stay strong; to stay together so she could help her son.

The driver who had brought her, Wilson she thought his name was, had refused to tell her the extent of Matthew's injuries. She didn't need to be told though; the urgency in the driver's voice and the anxious fear in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. If his own reactions weren't enough, the silent and anxious reception of the people in the house would have been. She could plainly read the horror and the fear in their faces and it fed her own panic, making it hard for her to continue, to remain strong. She felt their eyes watching her as she walked up those stairs, but she did her best to ignore them, instead she focused on preparing herself for what she was about to see.

She'd been dreading this day for nearly two years now, ever since her stupid, but brave son had enlisted in the war. It'll all be over by Christmas, he'd told her as he left that day, two years ago. If only he had been right, if only he had been back by her side whilst they celebrated Christmas that year and the next. She hadn't seen him since that day, the day he'd left. He'd been too busy nobly killing other men to have time to visit his mother. Whilst she was immensely proud of her son, how could she not be, she was also angry at him. It came from her grief and fear of the fate that had befallen him and it fed her strength, helping her stay in control. If she could be angry at him, angry at his own stupidity for nearly getting himself killed, she wouldn't fall apart.

She'd never expected to hear the worst like this though, never expected his tragic fate to play out here, in her world. She'd always imagined the bad news would come by telegraph, a letter, a newspaper story. Never had she expected to be interrupted one evening with tragic news that her son was gravely ill and waiting at Downton Abbey.

The drive over here had been the worst. It wasn't a long journey and she knew Wilson was driving as fast as he could. But with every second that ticked by, Matthew could be one second closer to meeting his maker and she couldn't let that happen, not without seeing him first. No, he was not going to die, Isobel told herself firmly. She wouldn't, _couldn't_ let him leave her behind in this world. She would do everything in her power as both a nurse and mother to save him and every second it took to reach him was a second too long.

As she'd reached the great house though, her resolve had weakened. She'd been in this house nearly every day for the last few years, helping out in the hospital and before then keeping company with the Crawleys. She'd never imagined one day she would walk up to it with such dread and fear in her heart, with such a sorrowful and painful sight ahead of her. It wasn't right, this. A mother shouldn't have to watch her son die, shouldn't have to face the world without him. It wasn't the natural way of things. But the war had changed everything, had turned all natural laws on their head and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

With working in the hospital, she was constantly reminded of the horrors of war and with each new soldier she treated, she thought of Matthew, thought of him suffering these same injuries or worse. Most people thought she was brave, strong and committed for working so hard in the hospital, but her motives were selfish, weak. She did it as a way of escaping, keeping herself occupied, a way of filling her mind with other things and pushing all her own doubts and worries aside. She hadn't expected that one day she would see her own son lying so close to death in this hospital and suddenly the familiarity of it all, the recognition of so many faces, made it so much harder. It meant she had to fight twice as hard to maintain her control, her composure, to make herself think like the nurse she was, not the mother who was about to see her son on the brink of death.

They had reached the top of the stairs now and started down the long corridor. Isobel paused at the top, steadied her nerves and tried to push down her fears. Anna looked at her with concern, so Isobel tried her best to give the girl a reassuring smile. She doubted it worked, but Anna smiled back too and continued on, down the corridor. Isobel was glad that Anna didn't try to speak to her, didn't offer her words of comfort or encouragement. Isobel didn't know how she'd tolerate them, how she would reply, how she would cope.

She could see down the corridor which room Matthew was in, she could see the nurses hurrying in and out, one quickly coming down the corridor towards them. The nurse was looking down at the floor as she came, but when she noticed the two people she suddenly stopped and looked up, then she froze in her place. The nurse let out a startled gasp when she recognised Mrs Crawley and her expression was enough to bring Isobel to a stand still. The young nurse's face and blood soaked apron told her everything she needed to know. With more a sense of urgency now than fear, she picked up her pace and walked quicker towards the room the nurse had just exited.

As they reached the room where Matthew lay, Isobel could see the Crawleys round the doorway, a couple of nurses and Dr Morris. They were surrounding the bed where Matthew must be, so Isobel at first could not see him. They sensed her approach and they all turned around and looked at her. Isobel had never felt so much on display before and it only added to her own worry. They all looked so sombre, so sad and without hope. Isobel felt herself falter, felt her confidence slip. She looked at the Crawley family then, saw their grief and knew how much they shared her own fear and terror. Robert's face was ashen white and Cora looked like she was about to faint any moment. Sybil's tears streaked her face and Edith looked scared and anxious. It was Mary who drew Isobel's attention the most though. Whilst her countenance was strong, restrained, proud, her eyes were full of doubt, fear, terror and Isobel could see the battle that was going on inside the young lady's mind. She could see in Mary's eyes the struggle she was constantly fighting to stay in control, to stay together and to not fall apart. She looked the complete picture of how Isobel herself felt and at that moment Isobel realised how much this beautiful young women loved her son. Isobel did her best to give Mary a reassuring smile as she caught her eye, but she doubt it would do any good.

The people in the room slowly parted for her as she felt herself walk forward, not really aware of what she was doing, her head ringing and her vision slightly blurring. When she reached the bed though, all the preparation in the world would not have helped, all her many years of nursing experience did nothing to soften the blow. His injuries were horrific, she couldn't have imagined a worse sight and she felt her strength and resolved waiver. Robert moved behind her, ready to catch her if she collapsed, but Isobel Crawley was stronger than that. She'd told herself the whole journey here that she mustn't fall apart, that she must stay strong and do everything in her power to save Matthew. With a fierce determination she never knew she possessed, she pushed her maternal instincts down, deep down, back in her heart and shut them away. She let her role as a nurse completely take over, letting it distract her from her fear and terror and she refused herself the distraction of remembering that this poor, dying soldier, was her one and only child. She stepped nearer towards her son's broken body and with only the eye of a nurse looking at her latest job, she immediately took in his injuries, his fever and what needed to be done.

"He needs to be changed and cleaned up at once!" She commanded the nurses, directing all the authority and determination she could muster. She looked at the family then, who were silently watching the scene unfold. It was a big room Matthew had been brought too, but there was still not enough room in it for everyone. They would need space to work and she didn't think it would be very helpful for them to watch the nurses treat Matthew. "Please wait outside," she asked them, trying to keep her voice gentle, trying to reign in her frustrations.

"I can't leave him!" Mary suddenly shrieked, the desperation clear in her voice.

"I want to try and help!" Sybil cried out, at the same time as her sister.

Isobel looked between the two girls and tried to think of a way of dissuading them. "Please girls," she eventually said, "don't you think Matthew deserves a little privacy whilst we clean him up." She tried to keep her voice light, hoping to alleviate some of the tension in the room, "You can come back in when he's all ready."

Cora seemed to get the message and stepped in front of Mary and Sybil. "Come along now," she said gently, urging them away. "Let the nurses do their job. I'm sure they will let us see him again soon." She decided not to add how important it was and that Matthew's life was at stake here. She didn't want to give any more voice to the fears that plagued them all. For now that Cousin Isobel was here and taking charge, they all felt slightly better, slightly relieved. They knew that if there was one person on this earth who would not rest until she had saved the poor soldier, it was his mother.

Mary didn't want to leave Matthew. Whilst she was with him she felt safer, comforted; she could see him, see him breathing, see him hanging on to this world, albeit by a thread. She was too afraid that something might happen in her absence, that she wouldn't be there when the final moment came. If it came. Yet she was too weak now to put up much of a fight and she let her mother gently usher her out of the room. She took one last look at Matthew before one of the nurses slammed the door in her face.

As soon as the family had left the room, the nurses immediately got to work. They knew better than to argue with Mrs Crawley on the best of days and tonight it didn't even bear contemplating. They quickly changed Matthew out of his muddy soldier's uniform and begin cleaning his wounds. There were many of them, cuts, bruises, grazes, everywhere. They left the main three injuries alone though – they didn't dare go anywhere near the leg and knew only the doctors would be able to sort out his two injured arms.

Dr Morris watched all this from the sidelines. He hadn't dared say a word since Mrs Crawley had come in, he didn't know what to say. He hadn't really known what to say to the family either and once the poor soldier had been brought upstairs, Dr Morris had felt quite at a loss. All the pressure and the attention had made it hard for him to think straight and he didn't dare begin any of the more complicated procedures in front of the family, especially the ladies. He had hoped they would leave once they were upstairs, but they hadn't and Dr Morris didn't know how to ask them too. He knew they derived some sort of strange comfort from being near to the soldier, of seeing him still alive and knowing what was happening to him. It did make it darn difficult for the doctor to do his job properly though!

He'd been incredibly relieved when Mrs Crawley had arrived and instantly taken charge, though he hoped no one had noticed. However, after a few minutes of standing around doing nothing, he was getting rather uncomfortable. He was just about to speak up for himself, when the door opened suddenly and Dr Clarkson barged in, followed almost immediately by the family again.

"Good God!" Dr Clarkson took one look at Matthew's battered body and immediately stopped in his tracks. "What the devil was he brought here for in this state! Those injuries need seeing to at once!"

Dr Morris felt his nose even more out of joint now. Not only was his authority being pushed aside by Mrs Crawley, but now by this other doctor!

"Yes well," Dr Morris began, trying to save face, "I was just about to look at those wounds myself when you came in." Realising he had been too harsh to the other doctor though, he said more gently, "Dr Clarkson, if I may have a word." He nodded down at the poor soldier's leg and began walking out of the room. Dr Clarkson followed and the family and nurses all watched as the two doctors conversed quietly.

Mary watched from the door and felt her panic start to rise again. She'd seen the pointed way the doctor had looked at Matthew's leg and knew what they were discussing. Quickly seizing her opportunity, Mary rushed over to Mrs Crawley and almost shouted at her in panic. "Please Cousin Isobel, they want to amputate his leg!"

Isobel was quite taken aback by Mary's reaction. She'd never seen Mary so distressed before, so panicked and afraid. Isobel was also stunned at Mary's words. "Amputate his leg?" Isobel repeated, her voice sounding quiet, surprised. She felt her face grow pale and for a moment she felt quite out of herself, hardly daring to comprehend the words that Mary had spoken.

Dr Morris had overheard Lady Mary's cry and looked around him with a sigh. He'd been afraid to bring this topic up, but he would stand by his promise of allowing the poor soldiers mother to decide. Speaking directly to Mrs Crawley, but nodding at Dr Clarkson he began, "In my professional opinion the leg cannot be saved and it would be far better for Mr Crawley if we amputated it now."

Isobel nodded slowly as she took in the doctor's words. She'd been avoiding looking at that wound before, the sight of it so ghastly, but swallowing the queasiness she felt, she turned her attention to the wound. Anyone could tell the bone was broken, the question is, would it heal and was it infected. Isobel wasn't so sure. There was only a mild sign of infection, it had yet to spread, but the bone and ligaments were so badly torn that she didn't know if it would ever heal.

She stood up slowly and looked at the two doctors. They were watching her closely, as were the Crawleys and in particular Mary. She sighed as she realised they were leaving the appalling decision to her and she tried to think what best to do.

Mary had seen the look of hopelessness in Cousin Isobel's eyes and immediately took up her campaign. She hadn't expected to need to fight with Matthew's mother, but she would if she had to.

"Please, please, save his leg!" She cried, trying to swallow the hysteria that was rising up in her again. It would do no good if she fell apart now. "You can't let Matthew lose his leg, he'd never be able to walk again, or ride his bicycle or…" She let her voice trail off then as she fought hard to push the true horror of it all away. "Please!" Her voice almost a whimper now, pleading with the only women who could help her in her plight.

Isobel sighed, she did not want to make this decision, yet as she watched Dr Clarkson examine the wound and look at her with sorrow in his eyes, she knew what she should do.

Dr Morris saw Mrs Crawley coming to the right decision and tried his best to bring her fully round. "Mrs Crawley, I'm sorry to say it, but… if we amputate the leg now, whilst the fever is still so strong, it will cause less of a shock to his system. Amputations can cause death if they are not done right and he has a much better chance of pulling through now than if we wait. In my opinion…"

Mrs Crawley looked at him then, with such sorrow and grief in her eyes, such defeat and frailty that he couldn't finish. In the past year he'd known her, she was always so strong, so focused and determined and now she just looked lost and helpless. Dr Morris didn't say any more then, feeling suddenly so very guilty for trying to push her to the right decision.

Everyone in the room was holding their breath, watching Mrs Crawley, waiting for her answer. Isobel didn't know what to say, what to think, what to do. All her nursing instincts were telling her to side with the doctors, to listen to their advice which she knew made sense. Even if infection didn't set in, the leg may never heal and may cause her son to be more disabled later. She also understood the doctor's need to do it quickly, whilst the fever would mask the shock to the system and before infection could spread.

Yet the small part of her heart that refused to be locked away was growing in strength. It was appealing to all her maternal instincts, all her own fears and doubts for her son's future. She knew how much the loss of the leg would affect his life, how it would forever cause him grief and misery, how it would prevent him from fully achieving the independence she knew he held in such high esteem.

With a heartfelt sigh that seemed to shroud the world in sadness, Isobel struggled to come to her decision. She looked between the two doctors, who were gently urging her with their eyes to follow their advice. She looked at the family, at Lord Grantham and his wife and their two youngest daughters. Then she looked at Mary, who was pleading with her with such an intensity that Isobel did not know what to do. Finally she looked at her son, at the injuries he had sustained and the fever that was still racking his body.

Heaven help her and her dear son if she made the wrong decision.


	5. Chapter 5

_Slight warning – if you don't like shows with an A&E/Casualty theme you may want to just skip/skim the middle part of the chapter. _

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"No," Isobel said eventually, her voice quiet, soft, only just audible in the deathly silence of the room.

The two doctors looked at her in surprise, hardly believing the decision she had reached.

Isobel saw their shocked looks and did her best to ignore them. She knew they were right, that removing Matthew's leg now would be the best thing for him. But she wouldn't do it; she couldn't let them do this to her son, taking away all his independence and any hope of a normal future for him. Even if he did pull through the fever, his life would never be the same, he would forever be disabled and dependent on others. Isobel knew just how much anger and frustration that would cause her proud, stubborn son. There was still a chance; still a hope, a prayer and she could not deprive her son of that.

"No." She said again, her voice louder now, more distinct and determined as she accepted her own decision. "We will take the risk and try to save his leg."

When Dr Morris opened his mouth to start speaking, Isobel raised her hand to silence him. "He is my son and I will not let you do this to him." Then, realising the real reason for Dr Morris' anxiety, she continued, looking him directly in the eye, "I will take full responsibility for my decision."

Yes, Isobel thought silently, it was her responsibility now, the life of her own son was in her hands. She wasn't just a nurse making a professional decision, the outcome of this would be with her forever; forever haunting or comforting her. She just prayed that she had made the right choice and had not just sentenced her own son to death.

It took Mary a few moments to fully comprehend Cousin Isobel's words. She'd watched her face, seen the way the doctors had silently pushed her and Mary had started preparing herself for the worst. A thousand arguments had raced through her mind, a thousands ways she could still stop them when Cousin Isobel relented. She wondered how far she could go in her campaign and even considered standing in front of Matthew, screaming the house down and preventing anyone from getting near him.

So as reassuring as Cousin Isobel's words were, Mary did not know quite how to react at first; they knocked her completely off her guard. She stood in a silent stupor for several moments as the outcome of Cousin Isobel's decision percolated through her mind, through her heart and soul. Then the truth hit her and relief rushed over her, running through her veins like sunshine. It gave her a renewed sense of hope, of peace and comfort, lifting away her despair and anguish.

The relief was so overwhelming for Mary that she nearly collapsed for the second time that night. Somehow she managed to keep her feet and just about resisted the urge to rush over to Cousin Isobel and hug her. Instead, with as much dignity as she could gather, she caught her eye and nodded her deep, heartfelt thanks. It would be alright now, it had to be. She had saved Matthew's leg and now she would save his life!

"Now then doctors," Isobel's voice was lighter now, less strained, more practical and determined as the nurse in her took charge once more over her emotions. She had made her decision, there was no use agonising over it and the implications any more. There were other, much more important things to think about now. "Are you going to help me save my son?"

The two doctors didn't need telling twice and immediately came towards Matthew and awaited Isobel's next command. It was easier that way, easier to let her take control and heaven knows how much she needed that right now.

"First we need to get this broken leg sorted," Isobel said, her voice practical and very matter of fact, though the idea of what needed to be done filled her with horror. She could do it though, she had to; her son's life was at stake.

"Right then, I want only nurses and the doctors in here, the rest," Isobel looked round at the family and the few other servants who had somehow gathered in the doorway to gawp at the spectacle. "I want outside, now."

Only Mary and Sybil dared argue with this, protesting at once. Isobel decided to let them stay. Sybil was already quite used to nursing now, following her training in the hospital and she could be useful. As for Mary, Isobel looked at the poor girl again and decided to let her have her wish. She looked a strange mix of panic and relief, determination and confusion and Isobel knew she would find more comfort if she stayed.

"Fine!" Isobel answered, showing more irritation than she actually felt. "The rest of you – _out_!"

After the onlookers had left the room, Isobel shut the door, but she didn't fail to notice Robert, Cora and Edith remaining outside the room. Their concern for her son touched her greatly and gave her a renewed sense of determination for what must now be done.

"Right then, I need to force this bone back into place." She moved towards the bottom of the bed and picked up Matthew's leg. Everyone could see the way Matthew flinched at the unexpected movement, even the fever unable to mask the sudden pain. "We can't risk anaesthetics with the fever riding so high, so we will have to hold him down."

Isobel watched the nurses' reactions to this news, saw the newer ones pale considerably and Mary and Sybil looked incredibly anxious. As for herself, she pushed her maternal instincts deep, deep down and made herself think like a nurse treating a normal soldier, one she did not know.

With a silent indication to the people in the room to move round the bed, Isobel said, "Hold him down good and proper, I think this might hurt." Then, before she lost the nerve herself, she pushed hard on her son's leg, forcing the splintered bone back into place.

The cry of pain and anguish that pierced the silence of the room was enough to make even the coldest heart break. It seemed to rise from the very depths of hell, from the very centre of pain and misery, anguish and torment. It echoed round the room, resonating with an intensity that only seemed to gain strength and magnitude. It split through the souls of everyone in the house and seemed to make even the very foundations of the great house itself shake.

Matthew's whole body protested the pain and tried to pull away. Mary and the others had to push with all their might to hold him down and Isobel continued pushing on the leg, making sure the bone was securely in place. Then, before she lost her courage completely and before she could let her son's cries of pain drive her to the edge, she walked round to his right arm and pulled that strongly and firmly back in to place. Then, with her son's cries of pain still ringing in her ears, still reverberating around the room, Isobel sat down on the bed. She suddenly felt exhausted, drained, unable to carry on. No mother should have to hear their child scream like that, no mother should ever have to be the cause of it.

Mary herself didn't know how she'd managed to get through those frightful few moments. She couldn't even begin to imagine how Cousin Isobel could have done that, managed such an act. The sound of Matthew's horrific pain was like nothing she'd ever heard and it stopped Mary's own heart dead. It seemed to pierce right through to her very soul, the centre of her being and shatter it absolutely; filling her with such pain and grief that she didn't know how she managed to remain standing, how she managed to remain silent.

They'd heard soldiers cry out in pain before; sometimes it was so loud it echoed round the house and filled everyone's hearts with dread. It had never been anyone they knew though, never someone so close to home. The familiarity of the screams of anguish only made them so much more terrifying and Mary knew it would haunt her nightmares forever.

Mercifully, Matthew's cries subsided rather quickly as the pain of the movement was relinquished and the fever again took control of his mind. The small group stepped away from the bed and looked at Mrs Crawley. She was taking a few deep breathes, trying to calm herself and fight back the panic. After a few moments, she seemed to recover enough, to find her nursing instinct and her professionalism again. She stood up, composed herself, brushed herself down of imaginary dust and held her head up high.

"Now then, we need to get those wounds seen too – Sybil, would you mind helping clean Matthew's arm so Dr Clarkson can stitch it. Nurse Susan, would you mind sorting out Matthew's broken arm." She issued a few more commands to the other nurses and then turned towards Matthew's broken leg. She knew she should have the responsibility of dealing with that now, that she could only trust herself with it. The wound looked less threatening, less frightening now that the bone was back in its rightful place. It was still horrific though and she set to quickly, making sure the wound was properly washed with the antiseptic and that all traces of the infection were removed. It was far from healed though and Isobel knew she would have to keep a very close eye on it for many days to come. It still may never heal, but she wouldn't let herself worry about that now. One thing at a time.

"Well, I see you have everything well under control now, Mrs Crawley." Dr Morris answered, after watching Mrs Crawley again taking charge. "I think it is well past time I went and saw the other soldiers who have been brought in." When no one voiced their objections, he made a hasty retreat, followed by the remainder of the nurses. He was used to hospital procedures like that, used to the cries of pain and anguish of the soldiers, but this time it all felt so very different, so much more real. He honestly did not know how Mrs Crawley had found the strength to do what she did, but his respect and admiration for her grew immensely. She was one strong lady and the poor soldier was darn lucky to have a mother like her. With more than a few sighs of relief, he nodded to the family who were still lingering outside as he walked out and then hurried along back to his hospital, where he was in charge and where he felt very much more in his depth.

After the doctor had left, the people in the room got on with their jobs in silence. Mary herself felt an overwhelming need to be kept busy, to be distracted from the horror of those last few minutes. "What can I do to help?" She asked quietly.

The question threw Isobel for a moment. She knew she shouldn't be surprised at Mary's offer of help, her need for a distraction, but Isobel knew Mary didn't have any nursing experience. She didn't dare chance the safety of her son and it took her a few moments to think of a task for poor Mary.

"The fever is the main problem, we need to try to keep his temperature down," Isobel said eventually. "Perhaps you could help with that?"

Mary nodded her consent and Isobel ushered over one of the nurses.

"Here, m'Lady," the nurse said gently, giving Mary a damp, cool cloth. "Just keep bathing his forehead." Mary looked at the cloth for a moment, then down at Matthew's fever ravaged body. She seemed lost for a moment, feeling the despair that had been threatening to consume her start to wash over her again. Whilst the terrifying horror of Matthew's injuries seemed over now, Mary was yet again reminded of how much her beloved Matthew's life was still at risk.

The nurse seemed to sense her growing distress and quickly found a chair nearby. She placed it by Matthew's bed and then urged the young lady to sit down. As soon as Mary was seated, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She hadn't realised how much effort it had taken just to try to stay standing. With a new found courage, Mary forced herself to look again at Matthew's battered face and with a shaking hand she began gently wiping his sweat ridden forehead. His eyes were still completely glazed over with fever and she couldn't see a trace of Matthew in them. It was as if the Matthew she knew and loved had somehow left his own body, had somehow left this world.

They weren't sure how much time passed then, time itself seemed a strange thing, an abstract concept. The minutes blurring together as they were each so consumed with their work and the never ending task of keeping their own fears and terrors at bay.

"I think we've done all we can now, Mrs Crawley," Dr Clarkson said eventually, breaking the silence with his tired, exhausted voice. He warily got to his feet and looked down at the poor soldier who was still lying there.

"Yes, you are right," Mrs Crawley answered, with a heartfelt sigh. Matthew's wounds had all been seen to now and he looked much the better for it. His broken arm was held in a firm plaster and his broken leg, which had to heal before it too could be plastered, was firmly bandaged and placed in a tight splint. The deep gash on his left arm was firmly and professionally stitched and all the cuts and abrasions his body had sustained were all clean and carefully bandaged where necessary now.

"Thank you, Dr Clarkson, and everyone, for your help." Her own voice was tired now too, anxious, worried. Now that all the imminent tasks were complete, she felt herself grow incredibly weak, tired and all the thoughts she'd pushed away for so long were starting to ebb back into her mind.

With a heavy sigh, Dr Clarkson stepped forwards and opened the door. He knew the rest of the family were waiting outside and would want to know the latest news. Lady Grantham and Lady Edith were sat looking anxious and pale on a couple of chairs the servants must have found and Lord Grantham was pacing backwards and forwards. As soon as they noticed the door open and the doctor, they immediately all stood to attention, their faces clearly showing their apprehension as they waited anxiously for the news.

"We've done all we can now," Dr Clarkson told them as they walked warily into the room.

"Will Matthew be alright now?" Cora asked, her face ghostly pale. She'd heard Matthew's earlier howls of pain and her own maternal heart had broken. She didn't know how Isobel had managed that, to hear those cries of pain and not collapse under the agony and strain of it all. She didn't ask Isobel if she was alright though, there was little point. She could see immediately the strain the mother was under and how hard she was trying to cope, how hard she was trying to remain in control.

"We cannot know for sure yet," Dr Clarkson answered, stepping back into the room and answering the question on Mrs Crawley's behalf. She'd been through so much tonight, he knew it would be too cruel to ask her to formulate the words, to speak out loud the knowledge that her son was still far from safe. "We've done the best to heal his wounds, now we just need to wait and see if the fever will break."

"And if it doesn't?" Edith asked quietly, her face downcast as she almost seemed to hide behind her father's larger frame.

No one wanted to answer that question, though they all knew the answer. His wounds for now may have been dealt with, but Matthew had a long way to go to recover.

"Perhaps it would be best if you retired for tonight," Dr Clarkson suggested gently to the family. "There's nothing more we can do now but wait."

Robert nodded at the doctors words. He glanced at his wife then, his daughters. They were all so pale, so weak, so grief stricken. He knew none of them would be getting much sleep tonight, but if they at least tried to rest, he knew it would all help repair the damage that had been done to their emotions, their souls and their hearts this night.

"Come along now," he told his wife and daughters gently, making his voice soft yet authoritative. He expected a few protests, but none came, they were all too weak to argue now. Only Mary stood up then and had the courage to disagree.

"I can't leave him papa," Mary protested, her voice weak, quiet, unable to find the strong determination within her to push her cause. Robert nodded though, despite her exhaustion and her obvious need for rest, he knew better than to argue with her at this time.

With a nod at Isobel, which was all he could really manage at the moment, not sure what to say or what to do, he walked out of the room and was followed by his wife and his younger daughters. Dr Clarkson and the nurses also followed, picking up their equipment as they went. For all, it was with worried, heavy hearts that they walked away and eventually went to bed and with troubled, terrifying thoughts that they finally went to sleep.

After the room had cleared, there was only Mary and Isobel who remained, the silence stretching between them feeling disturbingly empty now, after all the earlier commotion. Whilst Matthew looked so much better with his injuries seen too, they both knew the real battle had yet to be won. The fever was still gripping his body, plaguing it and it seemed to have increased in intensity as they had worked on his wounds. The sweat was dripping from him now as his body had started to thrash and squirm, trying to fight the fever that had invaded.

Mary quickly continued her task of mopping his brow, feeling the heat coming from his face as the fever rose his temperature ever higher. They both knew that the fever was at its worst now, that it was make or break time for the man they both held so dear. Turning towards Cousin Isobel, who was seated opposite her across the bed, she asked, "What do we do now?"

Isobel paused at Mary's words, looking at her son and then at the beautiful young lady who seemed so lost and afraid. With a heavy heart and feeling the sheer exhaustion of what she'd been put through tonight, she said simply, "All we can do now, my dear, is wait."

* * *

_I hope this chapter wasn't a bit too much. I didn't want to just wash over and shy away from some of the horrors that would have happened in the war hospitals and make out that everything was just magically alright. In fact, Matthew's injuries are quite mild compared to what some soldiers went through in that awful war. _


	6. Chapter 6

As the early morning sun rose over Downton Abbey, a chink of light sneaked through the thick curtains and fell on Lady Mary's tranquil face. The sudden, harsh light was enough to draw her out of her shallow, troubled sleep and she slowly opened her eyes. For a moment, with a mind still foggy from slumber, she wondered where she was. Suddenly though, the events of last night hurtled back into her thoughts and she woke up fully alert, the memory of Matthew's screams of anguish ripping through her heart and mind.

It had been a long, long night. The longest and most troubled night she had ever been through and it was hard to believe it was now over. After everyone else had left, and just Mary and Cousin Isobel had remained, she had been fearful that she would now eventually break down. She'd worried that the huge great wreaking sobs, which had been threatening to engulf her all night, would finally be released, but they never came. Instead, she'd felt numb, cold, distance, completely drained of all emotion and feeling. Tears did come though, silent, soft tears that slowly ran down her cheeks and fell onto Matthew's wounded face as she'd leant over his fever ridden body.

She'd wanted to hold him, cradle him, but she knew she couldn't, not with his injuries. Instead she did all she could do and continued the duty she'd been assigned – of helping to keep his temperature down. Mary had been glad of this small task of gently wiping his brow. Not only had it kept her busy, gave her a purpose, but it also gave her a way to be nearer to Matthew. She'd been so close to him and it felt right, natural. If it was going to be the last time she ever saw him, she'd wanted to make it count, to be near to him and do whatever she could to help.

As Mary had watched him lying there, his very life so uncertain, so greatly in danger, it had fully dawned on her just how much she truly loved him, how deeply he had pierced her heart. She hadn't realised before just how acutely she'd missed him since he'd left, nearly two years ago now. She'd missed his smile, the teasing twinkle in his eye, his witty retort to whatever playful insult she threw at him. She'd already known she loved him of course, that she thought of him constantly, but this night had brought it all into such a sharp focus. It had forced her to finally acknowledge and accept just how deep and powerful her love for Matthew was and Mary knew then her world would be a much darker and terrifyingly empty place without him.

After a while, Mary had found herself whispering his name, quietly praying and pleading with him to come back to her. She'd looked intensely into his haunted eyes, searching them, trying to find a small thread of the real Matthew in them, the small thread that tied him to this world. She didn't think he'd hear her, didn't know he would feel enough for her to even care, but she had to try. She had to try to give him the will to live, to survive, the will to fight the fever that was tormenting and threatening to destroy him.

"Matthew," she'd whispered, her voice anxious and pleading, "please come back, please don't leave me."

At the sound of Mary's pleading, Cousin Isobel, who had been watching Mary quietly, had gently reached across the bed and took Mary's hand in hers. Mary had looked at her suddenly, surprised, but she hadn't said anything. Instead the two women had looked at each other, a deep and powerful understanding between them, a shared grief and despair binding them closer together. Mary had realised then that she'd earned this great woman's respect and favour and Mary was quite surprised how much that had meant to her.

At some point in the night, Mary's sheer emotional exhaustion and weariness had gotten the better of her and pushed her into a superficial and distressed slumber. Now that Mary was awake though, and memories of last night thrust into her consciousness, she drew up the last of her courage and looked anxiously at Matthew.

The sunlight that was filtering through the gap in the curtains made his face glisten, made him appear almost an apparition, a dream. He looked so still, so silent, so peaceful lying on the bed, the contrast with last night so stark that for a moment Mary thought the worst. She sat up quickly and leant over him, looking at his tranquil face and his closed eyes. Fearing that he had been taken from her, Mary felt her anguish and grief wash over her, felt the great wreaking sobs that had failed to come last night start to choke her. But then something happened, something that felt as close to a miracle as Mary had ever known. Matthew's eyes suddenly trembled, ever so briefly at first, but then they started to flicker open and just for a moment, Mary saw Matthew's intense blue eyes, saw life in them, saw _Matthew_ in them. She also saw his lips move, quiver ever so slightly, but Mary could have sworn she read her own name on them. It was only for the space of a heartbeat and then his eyes closed again and he was still.

"Matthew!" Mary cried out, leaning over him, resisting the urge to shake him. No, it couldn't be, he couldn't have just slipped away like that! "Matthew!" She cried again, hoping she could bring him back.

Cousin Isobel woke up at the sound of Mary's cry. Seeing her distress, she jumped up quickly and leant over Matthew as Mary moved out of her way.

"Is he… is he…?" She couldn't finish the sentence, too afraid to speak the words, as if speaking them would give them life, give them foundation.

It felt like an age then before Cousin Isobel answered her. Mary watched silently, her fear keeping her perfectly still, stopping her heart and preventing her from breathing. Cousin Isobel leant over Matthew and gently placed her hand over his forehead, then gently over his neck to check for his pulse. Slowly, she then turned to Mary and for a moment Mary thought she saw defeat and anguish in her face. For a moment, Mary felt her entire universe come crashing down around her, felt herself falling down a great precipice of anguish and despair, until she heard Cousin Isobel's words.

"He's… he's alive," Cousin Isobel said slowly, her voice quiet as if she didn't quite believe it herself.

Mary wasn't sure she'd heard properly at first, she didn't dare accept it, didn't dare hope. She caught Cousin Isobel's eye and saw the same disbelief, the same fear and doubt, but then the words seemed to sink in for both of them. The disbelief slowly changed to relief, the fear to felicity and the doubt to delight. The overwhelming joy that rushed through them both was like rain in the desert. It filled their hearts and souls with a singing, resonating happiness and ran through their veins like warm, molten gold.

Mary herself didn't quite know what to think, what to feel, so she let the relief, the warmth, the joy rush through her. She let it take control of her, pushing away all the pain, the anguish and anxieties she'd been feeling, blowing them away like cobwebs in the warm breeze of her happiness. She felt her legs give way beneath her, but she didn't care anymore, nothing else mattered then, nothing was important. Matthew was alive and the world had momentarily become wondrous, magical, perfect. She let the chair catch her as she fell, her euphoria still bursting through her as she looked again at Matthew's face. His lips were moving, quivering, as if he was trying to speak her name. His beautiful blue eyes were trembling, flickering and occasionally they would open, a sea of brilliant blue in the warm radiance of the sunlight that lit his face like an angel. Indeed, he did seem like an angel then, sent back down to Earth to fill it with tenderness and happiness and compassion.

"He's still very weak," Cousin Isobel said, cutting through Mary's sudden reverie of angels and miracles. Her voice was serious, somewhat grave, but Mary could still hear the joy and gladness behind it. "He'll need lots of rest to help him recover and…" Cousin Isobel made a point of looking at Matthew's injuries, "To help his body repair itself."

Mary nodded at her words, knowing she was trying to kindly warn Mary that Matthew still had a long road to recovery ahead of him. Mary didn't let the words damper her euphoria though and, with a sudden need to share her happiness, she stood up and headed towards the door, "I'd better go tell papa."

Cousin Isobel nodded at Mary as she quickly left the room and walked down the corridor, her pace fast, energetic and anyone who didn't know any better may even say there was a definite bounce and joy in her step. Mary didn't have to walk far, for she saw her father coming towards her down the corridor. As they saw each other, both stopped and observed one another. No words were needed as Mary watched her father's face change, as he saw the joy and delight in her own. His expression, which had been filled with anxiety and fear, now reflected Mary's own gladness and relief.

"Oh Mary!" He said, stepping towards her and embracing her. Mary let her father hold her, sharing in his own happiness and joy for just a moment, before she pulled away, feeling somewhat self-conscious in her showing of emotion. Her father didn't notice though and with his face beaming he announced, "I had better pass on the wonderful news to your mother."

Mary nodded and watched him walk away for a few moments, before turning back and quickly hurrying to Matthew's room again. She didn't want to be too long away from him, didn't want to miss any moment she could spend by his side.

Cousin Isobel must have opened the curtains whilst she was gone, for now the bright May sunshine poured into the room, bouncing off the pale blue walls and filling it with radiant serenity and hope. Its bright cheerfulness was a welcome relief after the horror of last night and it bathed their hearts and lives with all the warmth of a thousands summers. Cousin Isobel was gently holding Matthew's hand and she looked up as Mary came in. She smiled at her and Mary felt herself smile back automatically as she went and sat back by Matthew.

Mary gently took hold of Matthew's other hand and felt the warmth of his fingertips send tremors of peace and calm through her. She watched his face again, she couldn't help herself. It felt so right, so natural to be sat here looking at him, watching for signs of movement in the face of her angel. It helped remind her that he was here, with her, alive and that her fears from last night were nothing now but a distant nightmare. Without thinking, Mary reached out and gently traced her fingertips along his face, tenderly caressing the cuts and grazes that marred his otherwise perfect features. Suddenly realising that Cousin Isobel was watching her, Mary quickly pulled her hand away, feeling embarrassed. Cousin Isobel simply gave her a kind, somewhat knowing smile, but this just embarrassed Mary further. She quickly averted her face from Matthew's and dropped his hand that she was holding.

Mary felt her normal reserve come back in full force then, felt her walls, her barriers, quickly build themselves back up, shutting in her emotions and leaving her feeling awkward, self-conscious. During the night, when Matthew's life had been hanging on so precariously, Mary's reserve had fallen and her walls had been continually crashing down. Just for a while, the idea of showing emotion, showing her feelings, hadn't filled her with any mortification. Now though, when she knew Matthew was out of danger, it all mattered so very much to her again. Even though her and cousin Isobel had shared a deep understanding last night, a strong sense of awareness of how much Matthew meant to them both, Mary suddenly found herself exceedingly embarrassed to be caught showing affection towards her son.

Mary found herself struggling for something to say then, something light hearted and cheerful, to put down her own silly actions and try to make it appear that they were meaningless. She was just about to say something completely inane and frivolous, when the door opened and spared her any further embarrassment.

Her father quickly came in, followed by her mother, her two sisters and the two doctors. The large room suddenly felt overcrowded, claustrophobic with all these people and Mary found herself guiltily standing up, as if she'd been caught red handed doing something she shouldn't. No one paid any attention to Mary as they entered though; all eyes were drawn to the bed and the injured soldier who was lying there. Despite the good news they'd all heard, seeing him so still, so silent, filled all their hearts with new worries.

Dr Morris, in his usual way of wanting to appear important, pushed passed the crowd and headed straight towards Matthew. He made a big show of examining him, muttering under his breath before standing up and announcing to them all what they already had grasped. "Through the diligent care and attention of myself and my staff, Mr Crawley has started to recover from his life threatening fever."

Even though they already knew this was the case, the doctor's confirmation caused the anxious faces of those in the room to relax and relief and joy to flood in.

"It will take time for him to recover completely though and," Dr Morris made a point of pausing then and looking at Matthew's bandaged leg, "we will still have to see if his leg can be saved."

"What will happen if it can't?" Sybil asked nervously, her face growing pale with this new, less favourable news.

Dr Morris started to answer, but Dr Clarkson suddenly began talking over him, butting in and sending him a reproachful look for the insensitive way he had been speaking. "We will simply have to keep an eye on it."

The family fell silent again, their happiness slightly dampened now by the doctor's words. Sensing this, Dr Clarkson continued, "I'm sure it will be alright though." Dr Clarkson hoped his voice didn't betray his own fears, as he knew now was not the time to concern the family with such worries. Let them enjoy their relief for as long as they could. He gave them his best reassuring smile that he'd learnt through all his years of being a country doctor. He wasn't quite sure how much it helped though and decided to go with distraction instead.

"Now that Mr Crawley is safe from the fever, he needs all the rest he can get!" Dr Clarkson said, as he gently started to usher them out of the room. "The more _undisturbed_ sleep he can get, the quicker he will recover." Dr Clarkson decided not to add that whilst Mr Crawley remained asleep, he would not feel the immense pain of his injuries.

The family soon got the message and somewhat reluctantly started to leave the room, but not before they each gave cousin Isobel a reassuring smile and a nod of respect, friendship and shared relief.

None of them commented on Mary staying, which half pleased her and half bothered her. She did not want to plead her case for staying to her family, but their unspoken acceptance that she could worried her. She was starting to feel the repercussions for her behaviour last night, her lack of control and the deep grief and anguish she had shown them all. Whilst she knew it was stupid, pathetic, it bothered her greatly that they had seen her weakness, her emotions and above all, her regard for Matthew. Although Mary appreciated most people had guessed she cared considerably for the heir to Downton, she liked to think it would always remain unspoken, ignored and forgotten between them, saving Mary the awkward, almost selfish embarrassment of acknowledging her feelings.

She looked worriedly after her family and knew that to save face, she should leave with them. She couldn't do that though, couldn't bear to be away from Matthew now that he had been brought back to her. She was afraid to leave him, afraid that something might happen in her absence. Above all though, she just knew she would miss him too much if she went. Avoiding Cousin Isobel's eye, she sat down again beside Matthew's bedside and made herself resist the urge to hold his hand again, that was one intimacy she could not afford right now.

As Mary watched him though, she couldn't help but feel a sense of melancholy fall over her. Her joy and happiness at his recovery was still singing in her soul, swelling her heart with the warmth of sunshine, but part of her thoughts were starting to turn somewhat downhearted, depressed. Not only was she growing increasingly self-conscious of the affection and regard she had shown towards Matthew, but she also couldn't help but think towards the future and their troubled past together.

She knew she didn't deserve him, she never had; not after all she'd put him through, after how much she'd unintentionally hurt him. Yet again her regrets for how she had acted pained her, putting a cap on her otherwise joyous happiness that her beloved Matthew was safe from harm. She found herself starting to worry, to fear his reaction when he saw her, when he became fully awake and aware of what had happened. Would he be angry with her, bitter about the way she had treated him before he'd left? Perhaps he didn't even think of her that way anymore, perhaps the war or her own selfish actions had erased any feelings he might have once felt for her. Even if he was able to forgive her, even if he still cared, could anything ever happen between them? He still did not know about Kemal Pamuk and Mary didn't think she'd ever have the courage to tell him, to see the disappointment in his eyes as he realised she was not the women he thought she was.

Even now, Mary knew her thoughts and worries were selfish, that she ought to be completely contented that Matthew was alive and recovering. She chastised herself for thinking of herself, for thinking of how it would affect her, but she couldn't help it. Now that her beloved Matthew had been brought back to her, the fool's hope she'd been unable to completely suppress ever since they'd parted had sprung back to life. Try as she might, Mary couldn't help but hope that her and Matthew could still have a future together, that she may one day be worthy enough for him, be able to win his love again and admit that she loved him.

Mary sighed as she let herself pick up and hold Matthew's hand, deciding to allow herself that one small intimacy, before he would wake up fully and things between them became as cold and distance as they were when they had parted.


	7. Chapter 7

Considering the uncanny way the Dowager Countess always seemed to know about important news over at the great house, no one was too surprised when she walked into the entrance of Downton Abbey early that morning. After barging through the front door, too impatient to wait for a footman, Violet marched through the hall and into the saloon. Her sudden appearance and somewhat stern and intimidating countenance struck fear into the hearts of some of the newer nurses. All the servants and hospital staff in the area quickly disappeared off if they could, or tried to make themselves look overwhelmingly busy.

Violet looked around her with a fierce efficiency and was satisfied to see that everyone appeared hard at work and the chaos of the hospital was confined out of sight at present. Too often did she find she had to step around beds full of crying soldiers and blood spattered nurses. It was a far cry from the house she had efficiently run for over thirty years and Violet did not like to be reminded of how much standards had slipped.

As she'd entered the saloon, Mr Carson happened to pass carrying a tray of food and he immediately stopped as he saw her. His back straightened and he nodded his head, "Your Ladyship."

"Where are they, Carson?" Violet asked, her voice sounding much more strained and less regal than usual, though her appearance gave nothing away of the anxiety she felt.

"They are upstairs in the dining room, my Lady," Mr Carson answered bowing his head, "I will take you to them."

Violet waved her arms at him to hurry up and Mr Carson quickly headed towards the main stairs, taking care not to spill the kedgeree in his haste. He still wasn't used to carrying all this food, but ever since the footman and the other male servants had left to fight he'd had no choice. He remembered when he used to think there was nothing worse than a maid serving at a meal, but now it was so commonplace he hardly blinked an eyelid anymore. The war certainly had changed everything at the Abbey and even his ever present need to abide by the rules of etiquette had to be pushed aside in the wake of the inevitable change. It wasn't easy though and he was certainly less able to adapt than some of the other, younger servants, even Mrs Hughes had taken it all in her stride. He had a good feeling that the Dowager Countess felt the same way about all these changes though and, his butler pride not wanting to cause her Ladyship any delay, he quickly headed up the stairs.

Violet followed quickly behind Carson, her walking stick barely having chance to touch each step as she anxiously hurried up the stairs. She'd heard the news that Matthew had been brought in last night and was hanging about at death's door, but she had yet to discover his fate this morning. Carson and a few other servants she'd seen would probably know, but if it was bad news, she wanted it to come from her family, _not_ from a servant. She been trying hard not to think of the worst and what affect it would have on Downton the whole way over here and now she was simply in a hurry to find out the news, for good or ill.

"The Dowager Countess, my Lord," Carson said, announcing her arrival as they entered the door of the makeshift dining room. Even under the circumstances, Violet still felt rather put out when she saw her family squashed around such a small table eating. Still, she had better things to worry about and comment on then, so as soon as she entered, and she'd indicated for Robert to sit down again after he'd stood up on her arrival, she asked, "How is he?"

"He has made it though the fever, but he is still very weak," Cora answered, putting her cup of tea down on the table. She looked at Violet then, curious to see her reaction to the news. She was not surprised that her mother in law had seemed so anxious though, after all, if anyone knew how important the life of Downton's heir was, it was the Dowager Countess. Heaven knows what she may have thought of the next in line to the earldom.

"Thank heavens!" Violet exclaimed, feeling an almost startling sense of relief and unaware that she had pleased Cora in her obvious joy at the news.

Violet was glad of her walking stick then, to support her as she took in this most wonderful turn of events. As much as she'd been against the upstart heir when he and his busybody mother had first arrived, just like the rest of the family she had grown to accept them both as part of their extended family. She was deeply concerned when she heard the news of poor Matthew and felt the devastating loss it would inflict upon the whole family. She was also incredibly relieved that they would not have to search again for the next heir. Matthew had proven his worth for taking on the responsibilities of Downton, they all silently agreed with that. They really would be lucky if the next, even more distance relative of Robert's proved anywhere near as capable. So for her own sake, her family's sake and for the sake of Downton Abbey, she was incredibly pleased that Matthew's life, for now, was safe.

"He will fully recover though, won't he?" Sybil asked, slightly nervously. Like the rest of the family, they still remembered Dr Clarkson's worried face earlier that morning.

"He will be fine," Robert stated, though his voice sounded more convinced than his expression. He tried again, "Dr Morris said that the worst was the fever and thankfully Matthew is now recovering from that."

"And his leg?" Violet asked. She'd heard all the gossip regarding Matthew's leg of course, how Mary had almost been in hysterics at Dr Morris, trying to convince him to save it and how Mrs Crawley had later gone against the doctors' wishes and taken care of Matthew's leg herself.

"We don't know yet, I'm afraid. Dr Clarkson said they would have to keep an eye on it," Robert answered.

"Is it true though?" Violet asked, wanting confirmation of the rumours she'd heard. "Did Mrs Crawley really go against the doctors' orders and fix Matthew's leg herself."

"I think so yes," Robert answered.

"Good heavens! Why?" Violet exclaimed. "Why on earth did she do that?"

"Because the doctors were not willing to take the risk and I was not going to condemn my son to being a cripple," Mrs Crawley answered, suddenly entering the dining room unannounced and surprising them all.

Violet was the most shocked and any lesser female might have blushed at the obvious insult they had given to Mrs Crawley. Violet turned around and a cutting comeback was on the edge of her tongue, but then she saw the poor woman and kept her remark to herself. She'd never seen Mrs Crawley looking so tired before, so dishevelled, and Violet was reminded of just what this poor mother had gone through last night. Not for the first time, Violet admired this strong woman and all that she seemed capable of, not that she'd ever admit it, of course.

Mrs Crawley was standing defiantly, looking Violet directly in the eye and appeared more than prepared for whatever comment Violet would make. When Violet held her tongue though, Mrs Crawley relaxed and remembered the reason for her disturbance.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Robert, but would it be alright if I took some breakfast for myself and Mary?"

"Yes of course," Robert answered, "Carson, take some food for Isobel and Mary."

"Yes, my Lord," Mr Carson answered, as he began filling a tray with some dishes and tea things.

"Has there been any change?" Cora asked.

"I'm afraid not, the fever and his injuries have left him very weak. It will be a few days before he's fully conscious," Isobel answered, avoiding Violet's eye, not wanting to risk any comments from her on Isobel's efficiency to make the diagnosis.

"How is Mary?" Violet asked, the only comment she was able to make under the circumstances. She directed her question at the whole family, but she was not at all surprised that Mrs Crawley deigned to answer it.

"She's pleased at the news, of course, but she needs rest herself. I did try to convince her to eat some breakfast, but she insists she is not hungry. Perhaps when she is presented with some food, she will change her mind."

"Poor Mary, I think she is quite against the thought of leaving Matthew's side," Robert said, with a faint hint of a chuckle in his tone. "Perhaps when he wakes, Matthew may find he has a very attentive nurse!"

The family smiled at this, even Violet, though no one who watched her expression would have noticed. In any other circumstances, Violet would be quite put out had her eldest granddaughter taken up the position of a nurse! She had already been through the battle of trying to convince Sybil to not train as one, but Sybil had been quite adamant. As Sybil was the youngest though, Violet had relented with the hope that it would not seem quite as unseemly for a still quite _young_ lady to take up the occupation. Besides, no one outside the family and the servants need know about Sybil and her nursing. For Mary though, her nursing Matthew was quite an exception. He was, after all, the heir to Downton Abbey and a member of their family in most respects. Like both Robert and Cora, Violet was suddenly hopeful that the damage that had been done to Mary's marriage prospects nearly two years ago, when she had delayed in accepting Matthew, may well take a turn for the better now.

"Well," Violet said dryly, "I hope Mary knows to make the most of the opportunity."

"I'm sure Mary is perfectly capable of making the most of _any_ opportunity," Edith remarked, her hostile voice earning her a few looks from her family.

"What about you, Isobel?" Cora asked gently, ignoring her daughter's comments. She was growing increasingly worried about the poor Isobel's appearance and obvious exhaustion. They all knew she was used to working long hours in the hospital, but this was quite a different situation entirely. "Perhaps some food and rest may be of help to you?"

"Thank you, Cora, but if you don't mind, I'd prefer to stay with Matthew for now," Isobel answered.

Cora nodded and then tried again, "We've had the room next to Matthew's made up for you, so later, if you are in need of some rest, please do make use of it."

"Thank you, Cora, that is very kind of you," Isobel answered, though she wasn't sure yet whether she would take the family up on this offer. When Matthew had first left for war, only a few weeks after war had even been declared, Cora had kindly invited Isobel to stay. "It won't be for long, the war will be over and Matthew will be back soon," Cora had said, trying to convince her to stay. Isobel knew Cora had not liked the thought of her being in the cottage all by herself, left alone with nothing but her worries for her son. Isobel had politely but adamantly refused, explaining that she did not want to trouble the family. The main truth was that Isobel knew she'd never feel properly at home or settled at the grand house. Despite the family's kindness and cordiality towards her now, she always felt rather out of her depth socially and she knew she'd never quite fit in with these grand people. She would never be able to forget that the only reason herself and her son were even here was due to an unbreakable law. Matthew had more of an excuse, of course, one day he would become one of these grand people himself, but Isobel knew even Matthew would never fully be comfortable in their world. She'd much appreciated the many dinner invitations though and had spent nearly every night in the great house. It was comforting to be with people she could talk to socially and to have somewhere to go to. It was also a great relief when she could go home and get away from all the social pressures of being at the Abbey, even if it was only to an empty house full of worries for her son.

When the hospital had arrived and Isobel had at last found a proper purpose for herself, a way of helping in the war, Cora had again pressed Isobel to stay. "You're here so much helping at the hospital anyway, why not stay here a while, just until Matthew returns?" Again Isobel had thanked her for the kindness, but politely refused. If anything now, staying in the house was even more uncomfortable and stifling than it was before. How could she sleep in one of the grand rooms whilst there were poor soldiers so injured lying below on makeshift beds? At least when she retired for the night back to Crawley House, she could shut away all the dark thoughts of injured soldiers and the chilling reminders that her son had still been out there, in danger. Besides, Crawley House had become her home now and she had been quite relieved when Matthew had decided to not move back to Manchester when war had been declared. A relief which had only been dampened when he'd announced later his intentions to enlist right away. It had then only been a fortnight before he'd been called down to London and that had been the last she had seen of him, until last night. Now that Matthew was here at Downton Abbey, and she was sure it would be for a long time, maybe she should finally accept Cora's kind invitation.

She noticed then that Mr Carson had piled a tray full of food and was waiting most patiently for her by the door. She nodded at the family and said again her thanks, before walking out of the dining room, followed by Mr Carson and the tray of food he was holding quite precariously. Isobel was almost tempted to offer help, but she thought that would upset Mr Carson more than it would help, so she kept quiet as she hurried back to Matthew's room. She was anxious to see if there had been any change, though she knew it was rather an optimistic hope.

Violet waited long enough for Mrs Crawley to be out of earshot before she continued her earlier conversation. "I still do not understand why on earth the doctors would listen to Mrs Crawley and let her take over!"

"But Granny," Sybil answered, "Cousin Isobel has been working in the hospital over a year now; she's more than capable of mending a few broken bones. Besides, I think they knew better than to argue with her!"

"Well, I hope if I ever break a bone I do not have to suffer under Mrs Crawley's care!" Violet huffed, her usual sour expression now firmly back in place, after the earlier anxiety had been quelled.

The rest of the family exchanged amused looks, but no one said anything. Their more jovial spirits and even the Dowager Countess' remarks were proof that things were certainly looking up for the great family at Downton Abbey.


	8. Chapter 8

Whilst things were looking up for those who lived in the grand world upstairs, a few servants downstairs were feeling quite the opposite. The whole great estate had breathed a sigh of relief at the news of Mr Crawley's recovery and some of the servants were especially cheerful that their futures, for now, were secure. For some though, the relief was short lived as they were growing increasingly anxious about one of their own. That morning's post had brought no new letter for Daisy and she was finding it harder to focus on her work.

"For heaven's sake, Daisy!" Mrs Patmore cried, as Daisy dropped an empty pan with a loud bang on the kitchen floor. "What's up with you child, you're all thumbs today!"

"Sorry Mrs Patmore," Daisy said automatically, as she quickly retrieved the fallen pan.

"Are you alright, Daisy?" Mrs Bird asked, rushing into the kitchen at the clashing sound of the falling pot. She only needed to take one look at Daisy to realise that her clumsiness was a far cry from her usual, absent-minded, inattentive self

Daisy was just about to automatically answer that she was fine, but the sudden kindness of Mrs Bird had brought tears to her eyes. Mrs Bird, who had a little more patience than Mrs Patmore for the kitchen staff, came over and gently took hold of Daisy's shoulders and looked her in the eye. Ignoring Mrs Patmore's fierce gaze, she gave Daisy a few moments to compose herself before she prompted her again for an explanation.

"It's William, Mrs Bird," Daisy sniffled, "I... I think somethin's happened to him."

"Why do you think that my dear?" Mrs Patmore enquired gently.

"I ain't heard from him for nearly 2 weeks!" Daisy cried, quickly wiping her tears away with her hands.

Mrs Bird gave her a few more moments, before Mrs Patmore's venomous gaze became too much for even her. "There, there child." Mrs Bird's voice was full of sympathy and concern as she let go of Daisy and gave her the best warm smile she could manage. "There's no use worrying about something you can't do nought about. William's a grown lad, he can look after himself." Mrs Bird then looked at the big bowl of soup Mrs Patmore had rather loudly placed on the table beside them. "Now dry your eyes and hurry back to work before the other servants start revolting!"

"Yes Mrs Bird," Daisy answered, quickly wiping her eyes and feeling very far from comforted at the cook's rather unsympathetic words. She quickly picked up the soup pan, just about managing to stop any soup from pouring out in her haste to leave the kitchen and hurry to the servants hall.

After Daisy had rushed out, Mrs Patmore's stern face broke down into a look of concern for Daisy and for William. Mrs Bird echoed her expression and the silent worries passed between them. Despite outward appearances, Mrs Bird knew how much Mrs Patmore cared for the servants under her charge, especially Daisy, though she knew better than to ever comment on it. As it was, she and Mrs Patmore did occasionally have their disagreements and had developed a sort of good cook, bad cook persona for the other servants. They always joined forces wherever Mrs Hughes was concerned though and, if any of the hospital staff ever dared venture down into their lair, they'd soon learn their mistake when faced with the combined wrath of the two cooks!

Whilst Mrs Bird didn't know Daisy or William as well as Mrs Patmore, she herself was feeling quite worried for the young servants. When the hospital invaded and Mrs Bird became an almost permanent extra cook, William had already left to fight, but Mrs Bird knew how highly the other staff thought of the second footman. She had also developed rather a soft spot for the unfortunate scullery maid and, perhaps in a way of defiance against Mrs Patmore, she did not mind showing her fondness for the girl. Daisy was rather slow and distracted at times, but she had a kind heart and a rather endearing cheerfulness and optimism about her. Ever since Mrs Bird had seen Daisy's tears after she'd tried to sabotage her cooking, she'd felt a sort of motherly affection for the poor girl.

"I hope poor William's alright." Mrs Patmore began, betraying the deepness of her concern in her voice. Noticing this, Mrs Patmore stiffened up somewhat again and said, keeping her voice as light hearted and patronisingly normal as she could manage, "That Daisy is bad enough on the best of days; she won't be good for anyone if she continues all this moping!"

Daisy was finding it difficult to stop moping though and the melancholy thoughts about William kept on pushing into her mind. With the gossip of Mr Crawley's injuries still so fresh and vivid in her thoughts, images of William meeting a similar or worse fate troubled her greatly. In her rush, and so wrapped up in her anxieties, she didn't notice Mrs Hughes in the corridor.

"Mind where you're going Daisy!" Mrs Hughes exclaimed, quickly moving out of the way and grabbing one side of the tilting soup pan before the contents ended up on her frock.

"Sorry Mrs Hughes," Daisy gushed, as she quickly continued past and into the servants hall. With very little care, she placed the soup pan on the large table and Anna had to quickly jump up and hold the pan to prevent it spilling over.

"Take care, Daisy," Anna said, her voice more stern than she intended after being faced with the prospect of hot soup on her lap.

"I'm sorry, Anna," Daisy found herself apologising yet again. She saw all the hungry servants watching her and quickly picked up the ladle to fill up Anna's bowl. When most of that ended up on the table rather than the bowl, Mr Carson decided to avoid any further catastrophes and stepped in.

"Sit down a minute, Daisy," Mr Carson ordered. He sat up straight in his chair and cast a reproving eye over the few girls who'd started to giggle at Daisy's clumsiness.

"Yes Mr Carson," Daisy replied, quickly sitting down next to Anna by the table.

Anna took the opportunity to immediately seize control of the soup pan and, after ladling herself a generous portion, she passed it down to the other servants out of harms way.

Mr Carson watched Daisy then, waiting for clarification for her odd behaviour. She was sat fidgeting, nervously twisting her pinafore in her hands. She looked like she'd fallen back into her wandering thoughts, so Mr Carson pressed her for the non forthcoming explanation. "May I ask, Daisy, what is troubling you?"

"I'm sorry, Mr Carson," Daisy apologised yet again, she'd found it was always the safest reply to give to the butler. "It's just that I'm worried about William as I ain't heard from him and somethin' may've happened to him and… and…" Daisy's voice trailed off as the tears started to flow. Anna kindly put her arm around Daisy as the poor girl tried to hide her tears.

Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, who had heard Daisy's news upon entering the servants hall, exchanged worried glances. They were both very fond of William and knew, like Anna, that the lack of correspondence from him was very strange and unsettling. William had turned out to be an avid writer and letters from him appeared frequently to several of the servants.

The other servants at the table had quietened down now and the soup lay all but forgotten in front of them. The newer maids didn't know William, but they'd all heard him mentioned enough, especially by the star struck Daisy.

As butler, Mr Carson felt it was his job to say something, but he struggled to find a positive thought amidst his worries. Mrs Hughes saved him from a reply though as she exclaimed, "I'm sure there's a good reason for why William hasn't written yet Daisy." Her voice didn't quite have the same ring of authority and certainty as it usually did though and everyone noticed the concerned looks that had passed between the butler and the housekeeper.

As Daisy looked set to break down into more tears, Anna gave her shoulder a squeeze and gave her a reassuring smile. "What'd I tell you last night, Daisy? William's probably been too busy to write, or the last letter has just got lost in the post."

"I s'pose so," Daisy answered, wiping her eyes again on her pinafore. She gave Anna a weak smile, the words of her friend helping much more than the other servants to calm her agitated state.

"Well I certainly have not heard any news," Mr Carson chipped in. "And I am sure his Lordship would have heard straight away if anything had happened to one of Downton's footmen." Mr Carson didn't know whether this was true or not, but poor Daisy didn't have to know that.

"Have you heard anything, Mr Bates?" Anna asked the valet, who was sitting opposite her at the table.

"I haven't I'm afraid, no," Mr Bates answered, "but then William doesn't write to me that often, so there's no worry there." It did cause worry though and the servants troubled thoughts sank deeper into melancholy and wild imaginations began to take hold. Visions and rumours of the horror of Mr Crawley's injuries last night were tormenting their minds, reminding them all that the terrors of war still haunted them, even whilst they were far away and safe within the walls of Downton Abbey.

Mrs Hughes was sensing the despondent atmosphere and knew that distraction, and work, was the best cure for them all. Though she understood and felt the concern the other servants had for William's possible fate, she also knew that there were jobs to be done and a group of anxious servants would not be good for anything.

"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," Mrs Hughes eventually said, keeping her countenance as stern as she could manage. She cast a reproachful look around the servants and they quickly dropped their heads and began eating again.

Mrs Hughes then nodded at the bowl of soup Anna had kindly placed in front of Daisy. "Now then, Daisy, you better hurry up eating that soup and get back to work, otherwise Mrs Patmore may send out a search party."

"Yes Mrs Hughes," Daisy answered as she quickly gulped down the soup in front of her. The reassuring words of the other servants and the warm delicious soup did nothing to assail Daisy's worries though. The simple and relatively disaster free tasks that Mrs Patmore had decided to give Daisy that afternoon, for fear it was all the poor girl could manage, were still clumsily and ineptly completed. Thoughts of William lying in a ditch somewhere, far worse off than Mr Crawley, refused to leave Daisy's mind and she could not settle or force her thoughts back towards her work. The worried glances from the other servants which often drifted her way did nothing to help keep her anxiety and worry at bay. Though if ever there was any greater proof of Daisy's obvious distress, it was in the lack of reprimands from Mrs Patmore that day.


	9. Chapter 9

Despite their differences in status and class, Daisy had quite a lot in common with Lady Mary that day. She too was feeling agitated and worried, though at least Mary's anxiety was of her own making. Mary knew she'd been told many times now that Matthew would recover, but she wasn't quite sure she could believe it, that she dared hope. He still looked so pale, his face so battered and bruised and the bandages that covered his injuries were a constant reminder of what he'd been through. He was so quiet and motionless, so peaceful and distance and far too rarely did his eyes flicker open, revealing their brilliant blueness and the sign of life in him. Mary simultaneously dreaded and pleaded for his eyes to remain open, for his lips to speak and for him to see her and finally reveal what he now felt for her.

Mary had sat and watched his beautiful face all day nearly, her eyes unable to look away for fear she may miss the moment he awoke. For a reason Mary did not want to try to comprehend, she wanted her face to be the first thing that Matthew saw when he finally regained consciousness. Cousin Isobel had sat with her and they had both remained relatively silent, each lost in their own thoughts and feelings. Mary had been incredibly grateful for the silence, for the lack of small talk and the lack of conversation about her own, somewhat strange behaviour. It wasn't like her, all this, sitting so long, not speaking, not doing anything but watching Matthew's face, watching his eyes quiver and his lips tremble. She'd held his hand too; the comfort of feeling the warmth of his fingertips bringing reassurance that he was still here, with her. It was the only intimacy she would allow herself, especially with Cousin Isobel watching. It gave her comfort, peace and she treasured it greatly, savouring the feel of his hand in hers, already preparing herself for a time when it would no longer be allowed.

Mary was far from still though, the restless energy and agitation grating on her nerves and increasing her anxiety and frustration. Whenever his eyes strayed open for longer than a few seconds, Mary would find herself suddenly leaning forwards, sometimes standing up, bringing her face close to his in case he was finally shaking off the slumber that possessed him. When his eyes closed again, Mary would sink once more into melancholy, her doubts and anxieties pushing at her and warring with the sense of peace and comfort she also derived from holding his hand and simply being in his presence.

She'd been through so much emotionally recently that Mary was finding it hard to think what she _should_ behave like, what she _should_ feel. She knew at the back of her mind she was behaving inappropriately, that propriety dictated she wait with her family for news or keep herself busy elsewhere, but she couldn't bring herself to leave his side. This overwhelming desire to stay with him, to hold his hand and watch his face, was not familiar to her and it confused her greatly. The events of last night had proved how deeply she loved him, how important he was to her life, but she didn't know if this helped explain away her strange, almost trance like behaviour. All she knew was that she couldn't bring herself to leave him, that she couldn't bare to be apart from her beloved Matthew. So she had sat, watching his face, holding his hand, both fearing and hoping for him to wake, unsure of what his reaction would be when he finally regained consciousness and saw her.

At some point in the day, around noon she would guess, the nurses and Dr Morris had come in to check on their patient. It was only at Isobel's strong urging did they manage to convince Mary to reluctantly leave the room so they could tend to him. Cousin Isobel had pressed on Mary that it was in Matthew's best interest that the wounds be seen to and she pointed out, incredibly delicately, that Mary herself was in need of a change. Mary had to admit that she was right about that. A tentative hand to her hair told her how wild and disarrayed it was and she realised she was still wearing her evening gown. It was her favourite dress, the black netted one with the ivory under slip and the exquisite beading at the front. It also happened to be the one she was wearing when Matthew had proposed to her so long ago and it struck her as strange now that she came to be wearing it last night. It was hardly appropriate attire for the day though and she reluctantly let Cousin Isobel usher her out of the room, with promises that she could return soon. As she walked away, she took one last longing look at Matthew before the nurses gathered around the bed, obscuring her view and then rudely closing the door in her face. Even then, Mary still found herself dawdling outside, unable to completely walk away. It was only when a passing housemaid caught her eye did Mary's propriety and dignity kicked in. Regaining all the regal demeanour she could manage, she asked the maid to send for Anna and then began walking slowly to her room

She was surprised at how much each step seemed to pain her, weigh on her heart as she became further and further away from Matthew. She paused when she passed the main balcony and looked down on the hall and saloon that stretched in front of her. The rooms were calm and empty now, all the soldiers that had arrived with Matthew seen to in the earlier hours of the morning by Dr Morris and Dr Clarkson, who had refused to leave whilst there was work to be done. The rooms were so eerily silent and orderly, a far cry from the image it conjured up in her mind of last night. Then the scene had been awash with beds and bloody soldiers, scurrying nurses and anxious servants and, most painful of all, her beloved Matthew, so brutally injured and close to death. As the agonising pain she'd felt last night surged into her memory, she tried to push it away with the vision of Matthew this morning. A vision of his face bathed in golden sunlight, his blue eyes dazzlingly bright in the stark contrast of his pale, scarred skin. The vision cheered her slightly and with more light hearted footsteps she continued to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her whilst she waited for Anna. Those few minutes she was alone, with nothing but her quarrelling thoughts for company, had been a strange mixture of luxury and turmoil. Away from the distraction of Matthew, her feelings had taken control completely and caused her to repeatedly pace across the floor with angry, irritated footsteps before collapsing with melancholy exhaustion on her bed. After only a few moments, her restless anxiety would resurface and she would begin pacing yet again.

It was in this almost frantic state that Anna had found her Ladyship and her obvious surprise and uncertainty of what to say and do was not lost on Lady Mary. She tried to compose herself quickly and issued to Anna a few instructions on what she would wear before sinking yet again into her nervous tension. Mary was incredibly relieved at that moment to have such an intelligent, understanding and trustworthy ladies maid. Anna sensed immediately Mary's distress and quickly set to in helping her change, intuitively realising that silence was best and speed uppermost. It struck Mary then, as it often did, how preposterous it was that she, a grown woman, needed another woman to dress her, but both her mother and granny had insisted on maintaining decorum even now. That meant corsets and fiddly dresses; something Mary wouldn't manage herself even in the best of times. Anna soon helped Mary change into something much more suitable, an elegant yet simple day dress. Even in her state, Mary knew it suited her very well, though she was loathe to admit her reasons for caring about her appearance at this moment. Her hair was the next priority, but as Anna began to straighten it, Mary's patience began to snap. If she hadn't been so consumed with her own warring thoughts, she would have felt quite sorry for Anna then, trying to fix her hair while she sat fidgeting so. She was fiddling with everything on her dressing table and could not be more relieved when Anna finally finished sorting out her hair. She had jumped up almost immediately and, with a silent look of thanks towards Anna, rushed out of her room and back towards Matthew's.

When she opened the door to Matthew's room, Mary was incredibly pleased to see that all the nurses and the doctor had gone. It was just Cousin Isobel again and she gave Mary a warm smile when she entered; politely not saying a word as Mary quickly sat down and took hold of Matthew's hand again. She looked anxiously at Matthew's face, selfishly relieved to see there had been no change and she had not missed him awakening. Whilst Mary felt somewhat better for being cleaned up, it wasn't long before her earlier jumbled thoughts crept back into her mind and began fighting within her again. Time again had started to slip away and the day was spent with Mary plagued by her alternate hopes and dreams and doubts and fears, one minute restless and anxiously searching Matthew's face when his eyes began flickering, the next descending into despondency and despair as Matthew sank again into slumber. The constant switching of her thoughts and emotions were spinning her insides around like a leaf caught in the fiercest gale. It was threatening to drive her into a breakdown and only the tranquillity of Matthew's face and the comfort of his hand in hers grounded her to reality.

When her family suddenly entered the room, at some point in the afternoon, Mary had been so surprised that she'd jumped up, looking and feeling incredibly guilty. If her thoughts had been more coherent, she might have actually realised that her sudden movement and culpable expression raised far more eyebrows than had she simply been seen holding the hand of her wounded cousin. Mary was mortified at the knowing glances that passed between her parents, especially when she noticed granny behind them. She quickly tried to compose herself, but found she was not yet capable of small talk and was grateful when Cousin Isobel responded to their enquires on Matthew's state. They stayed for a few minutes, exchanging pleasantries and Mary was only able to find her voice when her mother pressed her to come to dinner that evening. Mary shook her head adamantly, trying to think of a suitable argument for her to stay with Matthew, without revealing how important it was to her.

"I'm not that hungry mama," Mary began, "besides, I couldn't leave Cousin Isobel all alone." She gave the woman an apologetic smile, hoping she would not mind Mary using her to formulate her excuses.

"Cousin Isobel can eat with us too, of course," Cora answered, first looking at Mary and then nodding at Isobel. Mary hoped her family wouldn't notice her slightly panic stricken look then, unable to come up with any other defence for why she should stay with Matthew.

Luckily Cousin Isobel had her wits about her and stepped in, though whether it was for her own sake or Mary's, she wasn't sure. "If it's not too much trouble, I would prefer to stay with my son. If she doesn't mind, it would be most kind if Mary could keep me company."

"It would not be any trouble at all, Isobel," Robert answered kindly. "I'll have Carson bring you some food if you and Mary would like to stay here." Robert took that moment to give his eldest daughter a quick once over. He was secretly pleased to see that she had changed and was looking somewhat better than she had last night. He knew she was far from content though and that she was still worrying about Matthew. Like all of them, until Matthew was properly awake and they knew his injuries were healing, the worries and anxieties were still there bubbling underneath the surface. Sensing that Mary was anxious to be left alone again, and knowing full well that Matthew needed as little to disturb his sleep as possible, he decided it was time they all made their excuses.

"Well, as it is nearly time for dinner, we'd best get ready and leave Matthew in peace!" He began ushering them out of the room then, not particularly surprised that they were all reluctant to leave. His mother proved the most reluctant and Robert knew just how shocked she'd been when she had first seen Matthew's state.

As soon as her family had left, Mary felt incredibly relieved to be, almost, on her own again with Matthew and immediately sank down into her chair again. Whilst she still couldn't bring herself to meet Cousin Isobel's eye, she no longer felt quite as self conscious about holding Matthew's hand. She quickly picked it up, again savouring the feel of his warm touch in her palm. Without any more distractions, Mary found herself falling back into the troubled abyss of her warring thoughts. They began turning over yet again, fighting with themselves and chasing each other around, unable to leave her settled and unable to leave her employed. She had a distant feeling that time was passing, that the sun pouring through the window was shifting position and then slowly fading. The day was coming to an end and Mary was not sure if this pleased her or not. Every passing minute was a minute closer to Matthew awakening and her own final judgement and reckoning. The moment when she would discover just what Matthew now felt towards her and what course her entire future would take. When her thoughts were turning towards hope, towards the possible reconciliation for her and Matthew, the hours, the minutes, seem to stretch into infinity. When her worries and anxieties began to chase her hopes away, time suddenly sped up, the moment when all her fears and doubts would be confirmed rushing towards her with a terrorising rapidity.

When the sunlight had all but faded in the sky and the dazzling orange and pink of the sunset thrown across the room had faded, Mary was momentarily stirred from her musings as Carson came in with some food and light for her and Cousin Isobel.

"You really must try to eat something, Mary," Isobel urged as Mary pushed away the tray of food Carson had gently laid beside her before closing the thick curtains. She hadn't touched a morsel all day and Isobel was becoming quite worried. "You really need to keep your strength up."

"What on earth for!" Mary exclaimed with more petulance than she felt. She immediately felt guilty, both at her cutting words and the look of hurt on Cousin Isobel's face. She didn't quite know how to apologise then though, so she quickly averted her gaze down and looked at the tray of food. The thought of eating turned her stomach, her warring thoughts and restless tension too strong for her to contemplate eating. She saw Cousin Isobel still watching her though and, as a way of admitting her apology, she did her best to eat a few scraps. The food tasted like sawdust in her mouth, but she forced down a good portion, each bite encouraged by the growing smile and delight she felt emanating from Cousin Isobel.

She had to admit she did indeed feel better for eating and she knew that Cousin Isobel did too, both for herself and for Mary. It wasn't long after Carson had returned to clear the mess away and bring them more light that tiredness got the better of her cousin. She smiled across at Mary, reflecting again her new found respect and admiration for the aristocratic lady, before she let her eyes close and her head droop. Her slumber this time was more peaceful, deep and fulfilling now that she knew her son was safe.

Mary again felt herself losing track of time and, after a while, she glanced over at Cousin Isobel, saw her head still down and her eyes still closed. Her steady breathing could be heard clearly in the quiet of the room and Mary knew she was in a deep sleep. Mary herself felt too agitated for sleep, too over exerted to know that she would not find her rest. But with Cousin Isobel asleep it gave Mary confidence, the luxury of feeling that it was, at that moment, just her and Matthew. His eyes were still flickering and Mary gave in to the urge she'd been fighting all day, the urge she'd denied herself for fear of her cousin's reaction. She slowly reached out and gently caressed his face, letting her fingers brush the bruises and cuts that jagged across his porcelain skin. She savoured every touch, every caress, as if trying to commit them to memory, for a time when the intimacies would no longer be allowed between them.

Her fingertips followed his cheek bone, met his jaw line and then paused for a moment, suddenly unsure. Then, with the lightest of touches and trembling hands, she traced the line of his lips with her fingertips. As a jolt of electricity ran through her, she quickly pulled her hand away, suddenly feeling guilty and shameful for her actions. Her gaze quickly shifted from his lips to his eyes and she saw that they were open, the bright blueness so intense and full of emotion her heart suddenly stopped beating. Their gazes held for what felt like an eternity, full of unspoken but unmistakable emotions; longing, passion, desire, pain, bitterness, sorrow, but above all, a deep and soulful love. In that moment Mary felt her heart simultaneously shatter into pieces and swell to fill her chest, crushing her lungs so she could hardly breathe. He tried to speak then, his voice barely a whisper, barely a movement of the air, but the word was distinct, clear as ice on a frozen lake and it struck her to her very being. "Mary." Then, sleep overtook him again and he slipped away into slumber, his eyes drifting closed.

Mary found herself unable to tear her gaze away from his closed eyes, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest she feared it would wake Cousin Isobel, the sound echoing round the room with all the loudness of a thunderstorm overhead. When she finally remembered how to breathe, it was shallow and strained and Mary found herself quite incapable of movement. The emotions that had struck her down as she'd looked into his eyes were battling around inside her, spinning her thoughts into a tempest of conflict and confusion. She didn't know what to think, what to feel, what to make of the deep and powerful emotions she thought she'd seen in his eyes.

Don't be silly, she eventually told herself, forcing herself to calm down and breathe deeply until her heartbeat started to return to normal. It was nothing, nothing but the pain from his injuries and the confusion from his deep sleep. There was nothing else there. She forced herself to repeat the words in her mind, making herself accept them and refusing to allow herself any deeper thought on the matter. It helped calm her mind, but her heart was far from convinced, though it seemed to know better than to speak at present. As she forced her mind into composure, the exhaustion that had been refusing to come all day finally took hold. She felt her eyes start to struggle to stay open and her mind begin to shut down. Stifling a sudden yawn, Mary took one last look at her beloved Matthew, his face still peaceful and his eyes still closed. Then, she let herself give in to the sudden impulse she felt and gently rested her head on his chest, the slight movement of his breathing still noticeable even through the blanket which he lay under. She felt an overwhelming sense of peace then and, still unable to let go of his hand, she let the quiet, rhythmic sound of his heartbeat lull her into a deep and restful, reassuring sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

The shouts and screams that were echoing around his ears were making it hard for him to concentrate. The almost melodic booming of the continual gunfire and explosions were drowning out his thoughts and the sound of his voice as he shouted commands at his men. Over all this cacophonous noise though, he suddenly recognised one voice, one shout for help and he immediately stopped. He looked around, trying to find the source of the voice, but he couldn't see anything. With an ineffectual shout and a much more successful hand single to his men to stay where they were, he turned towards the sound. The mud oozing between his boots made walking difficult and with very careful footsteps and much slipping, he made his way towards the voice. The rain pouring down was washing mud into his eyes, making it difficult to see and more than once did he slip or trip over a body that was lying beneath him. He didn't look down though, he'd learned by now to stay focused and not seek out the face of the poor soldier below, not when no sound could be heard and the body was unmoveable beneath him. He scrambled up quickly, trying to negotiate his way towards the familiar voice that was crystal clear amongst the sounds of so much damage and destruction, so much pain and suffering.

When he approached the voice, he saw the soldier lying wounded on the ground, his leg caught beneath another body, a dead weight which the injured soldier was unable to move. He called out to the soldier, who looked up and almost smiled as he saw the familiar face. He quickened his pace now and just about managed not to fall again in the mud as he reached the soldier. With his words somewhat lost to the perpetual gunfire and shouts and screams that surrounded him, he tried to give some encouragement to the injured soldier. He quickly pushed the dead body away, the injured soldier fruitlessly trying to help him. As he looked down, he saw that the soldier's leg was broken and he would not be able to walk. Without a second thought, and ignoring the sudden protests from the soldier, he leant down and slipped his arms under him. As gently as he could, whilst trying not to slip in the mud, he helped the soldier up, supporting him as best he could as the soldier was too tall and heavy for him to carry. He heard the man cry out in pain as he tried to put weight on his broken leg and it was with little progress that they began walking back to the trenches, hobbling through the thickening quagmire of mud and broken bodies.

Something suddenly flew past their heads and the two soldiers watched its progress as fear slowly began to fill their hearts and terror began to take over their minds. They saw it arc through the grey sky and land a few feet away from them, just where the injured soldier had been lying a few moments ago. They'd seen many of them before of course, even hurled several of them over the trenches themselves, but never had a live one been so close to their feet before. As the world suddenly went into slow motion, he knew he had to run, that he had just a few seconds of time remaining before his life shattered into oblivion. His thoughts suddenly clicked into complete clarity and as adrenaline surged through him, he acted on impulse, without thinking or feeling as all emotions and sensations became shut down. The soldier he was supporting tried to push him away, tried to free himself so that he was no longer a burden, but he wouldn't let him. Instead, he pushed the soldier around in front of him, away from the fallen grenade and used his own body as a shield to protect the soldier. Then, with all the strength and energy he could muster, he threw himself and the soldier forward, away from the grenade that lay so close, for a moment seeming so harmless, so innocent, just lying there.

Then the earth shattering boom of the detonating grenade filled his heart and soul and reached every fibre of his being. The shock wave of the explosion propelled them both further forward and, after what felt like an eternity of being hurtled through the air like a fallen leaf caught in an autumn gale, he eventually landed on the suddenly unyielding and firm ground. He tried his best not to crush the injured soldier beneath him as the impact sent another shockwave through him, reverberating through his body and jarring every single bone and muscle. Keeping his head down, he did his best to cover the body of the injured soldier as the shrapnel from the explosion cascaded down around them.

Then, all fell suddenly so still, so quiet and motionless after the devastation and destruction of the exploding grenade. In those few moments, all felt peaceful and safe and he looked down at the soldier beneath him, saw him breathing and knew he was still alive, though it appeared that the impact had knocked him unconscious

Slowly then feelings, sensations and emotions started flooding back, breaking down the walls his mind had automatically erected in the face of danger. He slowly became aware of the deafening sound of his pounding heart and heavy breathing and the shouts and screams of the continuing battle around him. As the adrenaline that had cursed through him began to dissipate, it was replaced with a searing, blinding pain. Every single ounce of his being started to cry out with it and it ricocheted through his mind, increasing in intensity with every heartbeat. He tried to move away from the unconscious soldier, but he was unable to, the pain freezing his body in place so it could hardly move. He just about managed to roll off the soldier and onto his side in the mud. He felt his face starting to sink into it then and he tasted the acrid earth on his tongue. As the pain continued to torment him, his vision started blurring, his hearing became fuzzy and he started to sink down into the blackness and into the suffocating, choking mud. He tried desperately to cling to reality, to not let himself become consumed by the darkness and the pain, but it was futile. As his mind rushed through all the memories of his life, one word became crystal clear in the darkness, one word sprang from his lips. He heard himself shout it out, distantly heard it echo around the battlefield, louder than any gunshot or grenade, before the blackness and the suffocating mud claimed him and he sank into oblivion. "Mary!"

* * *

As the blackness continued to consume him, a few sensations would sometimes work their way into the edge of his subconscious. He'd suddenly become aware of distant sounds, lights and movements around him, disjointed sensations that fell like jigsaw pieces through his starved mind. As he tried to put the pieces together, to grasp onto the sensations and understand them, they would slip away and leave him with nothing but blackness once again. There were times he thought he heard voices, military, authoritative voices, issuing orders above him. He thought he felt movement, felt himself lifted up and carried, but it was all so distant, so difficult to clarify in his mind. He would almost have thought it was a dream, except it was accompanied by pain. A pain like he never knew was possible, a pain that would soon start whenever any awareness broke through into the blackness. The pain would rush through his body and shatter his mind, pushing him yet again into the darkness, where he often found relief. At least in the darkness there was no pain.

He could not be aware of how much time was passing then, what was happening to him or where he was, but after a while the nature of the blackness shifted. Before it had been empty, a black void of nothingness; no feelings, thoughts or emotions, nothing save the disjointed sensations that sometimes filtered through into his subconscious and confused him. Slowly though, the confusions started to take hold, they began to find weight and foundation. The doubts and unanswered questions about what was happening to him began plaguing him, tormenting him. They followed him down into the blackness and gave him no peace. He found himself challenging his own sanity, the sensations around him so disjointed and incoherent he had nothing to hold onto. The rational part of his mind, that was growing ever smaller and distant now, knew he was at the beginnings of madness. Although it was unknown to him, the fever that had invaded his body had also started invading his mind. It twisted his thoughts, splitting his consciousness and plunging him to the brink of despair and anguish. It took over every rational part of his being and even the searing pain that still agonised his body was pushed out. Occasionally though, the pain would overwhelm him and he'd distantly hear himself cry out in agony. The pain that was spreading through his haunted mind giving him a sort of relief from the madness, a fleeting sense of his own self once more. The madness would soon find him again though, torment him and drag him down into terror, trying to convince him to give in, to stop fighting. He wanted to give in, to let the madness fully take hold and leave him in peace, to let himself slip away from the torture and from reality.

Something was stopping him though; something was holding him to this world, to this life. At first his fever ridden mind couldn't make it out, couldn't grasp it, but it slowly grew, becoming more distinct. It became a voice, a crystal clear voice in the sea of his madness and pain. A voice he recognised, a voice that had haunted his dreams since the first day he had met her. It called his name, pleaded with him, begged him to come back and not leave her. It was a voice he couldn't resist, he'd never been able to, and it pulled him up, through the layers of madness and pain, through the suffering and turmoil, growing louder and louder. He became aware of her touch too, her closeness and warmth and it helped give him the strength to fight the madness, to find the will to live. As he let himself focus on her voice, her touch, he felt the madness start to lose its hold. It was still there, trying to torment him, but it had lost its potency. It then began to dissipate, slowly leaving him be to slip away back into the blackness once more. It was peaceful this time though, safe, and it was accompanied by the feeling of his beloved Mary so close to him. She was the last thing he remembered, the last memory of his ordeal, before it all shattered and fell away, lost in the distance as the blackness took him away.

* * *

Once again the blackness consumed him and thoughts and sensations slowly teased his mind as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Like rainwater falling through cracks, they would percolate through into his mind, piercing the blackness and startling him back into what he thought was reality, though it was so distant, so faded, he couldn't be sure. The voices he heard this time were warm, familiar and they played on the edge of his consciousness, teasing him with memories he couldn't quite reach. He felt people beside him, two women especially who were incredibly dear to him, tenderly holding his hands, but he couldn't quite place them. Sometimes he felt his eyes open and he was rewarded with a blindingly beautiful vision. He saw an angel before him, her face painfully exquisite as it glowed bright, the sunlight playing around her hair like a halo. He recognised this beautiful vision before him, her name was on the tip of his tongue, but always the blackness would close in around him before he could quite grasp it, the weakness taking over his body and pushing him back into sleep.

He sometimes wondered if it was all a vivid dream or perhaps he had somehow left this world and found his way to heaven. When the angel filled his vision, he might have been convinced he had, but the pain was still there, it simmered and seared in the background, tormenting him. People weren't supposed to feel such pain in heaven, nor dreams. Pain like he'd never known before. It felt so strong, so real and only the beautiful sight of his angel leaning over him made it bearable. Once he even felt her touch, felt her fingertips gently caressing his face, his lips, her touch reminiscent of a lover. He'd looked into her eyes then too, saw such love and concern there that it nearly broke his heart. He wanted to gaze upon her face forever, to etch it into his very soul, but the blackness consumed him again, shattering the memory like a dream upon waking.

When he next opened his eyes, everything felt distinctly different, clearer somehow, brighter. He looked up and straight into the eyes of his beloved angel. He recognised her then, the sudden influx of memories taking his breath away as he looked into her strikingly beautiful face. It was shining golden in the early morning sunlight, the luminescent radiance bouncing off her silken brown hair and dazzling him. For a moment he wondered if this hauntingly beautiful vision could be real, if it was really her. Mary, his beloved Mary, looking down with such awe and delight in her eyes, such deep and searing love. He spoke then, heard his croaky voice whisper her name. "Mary?" He asked, afraid to believe it was really her. He wanted to say so much then, to pour out his very soul to her, but he couldn't find the words, find his voice. He tried to sit up, to move himself closer to her, but as the pain ripped through his body it forced him to remain still, his face grimacing in pain. Mary must have seen the sudden pain in his eyes, for she suddenly looked at him in concern, her face suddenly darkening to worry.

"Don't move, Matthew," she said, her voice like rich honey running through his soul, filling him with warmth and pushing out the pain.

"Mary?" he asked again, his voice still so weak it was little above a whisper. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, so many answers he needed, but he hardly dare believe she was real, hardly dare say or do anything in case he broke this glorious dream into pieces. If it was a dream, he wanted it to last forever, to see her looking down at him like that, to hear the sound of her voice. He felt her hand in his, felt the warmth emanating from her fingers, felt it begin surging through his veins, filling every fibre of his being with sunshine. It all felt so real, surely it couldn't still be a dream? He reached up then, his arm heavy, painful, but he didn't care. He lifted his hand towards her, reaching out and gently touching her face, running his fingers down her cheek, savouring every touch. Her skin burned, or perhaps it was his fingertips, for that moment Mary suddenly jumped, standing up and moving away from him. She looked scared then; frightened and panicked and he didn't understand why.

"Mary?" he asked again, his voice questioning and more distinct now, less croaky as he shook off the last lingering doubts from his mind. He knew it was no dream now, that somehow, miraculously, Mary was standing there in front of him, her eyes darting about in fear. As the knowledge sank in, so did a thousand distant memories, suddenly rushing through his mind and causing him nothing but conflict and confusion. Memories of her voice, bringing him back from the brink of madness, from the edge of death; of his angel, her face glowing golden and her fingers touching his cheek, his lips; of her beautiful eyes and the look of deep concern and love he thought he'd seen there. They played about on the edge of his reason, teasing him of what might have been, of what could have happened. He didn't know if they were real, he couldn't be sure if they were part of this reality or part of the dream state he'd been lingering in for so long. All he knew was that he had woken today to find her holding his hand, that he had seen and felt something in her eyes and that now she was backing away from him, the distance between them growing in more ways than physical length. He could almost see her building walls around her heart and soul and it pained him in a way his injuries never could. The hand that had touched her cheek was still there, hanging in the air and reaching out towards her.

"Mary." He said her name again, calling to her, trying to find a way through her defences and reason to the tender heart he knew beat within.

"I'll… I'll just go find your mother," she answered, trying hard yet unsuccessfully, even to him, to make her voice measured and calm, her countenance strong and controlled.

Mother? The thought of his mother being here seemed almost as strange and miraculous as Mary. He watched her walk out of the room then, heard himself call her name one last time. His voice a plea this time, full of longing and confusion, willing her to stay, to not leave him, not now. It was too late though, for that moment she turned and almost fled out of the door, banging it shut behind her.

He tried to move forward then, the ludicrous thought that he could somehow run after her momentarily in his thoughts. The simmering pain, that he'd so far managed to push to the edge of his mind, suddenly rushed through him again, preventing him from moving further. The pain was nothing to him then though, barely a nuisance as all the hopes and dreams he scarcely allowed himself to acknowledge shattered to pieces around him. They merged with the sound of his breaking heart as he looked at the door Mary had just banged shut behind her.


	11. Chapter 11

_Massive thanks to OrangeShipper and AriadneO who have helped me edit this chapter – you should have seen the state it was in before they helped! :-)_

* * *

As the door slammed shut behind her, Mary heard it echo down the empty corridor. Long after it had died away, she felt it reverberate round her mind, the sound almost as loud as her pounding heart and her shallow, quick breathing. Almost subconsciously, she found herself automatically checking the corridor for servants or members of her family, afraid any of them would find her in this state.

She didn't go and find Matthew's mother straight away. Instead she leant against the closed door, letting it support her weight as her legs became unsteady and her body weak. She forced herself to take deep breaths, filling her lungs with rich, much needed air as her heartbeat finally started to slow down.

Her thoughts were far from settled though, they ricocheted through her mind, one chasing after another before it had even been realised. She tried to grab onto them, tried to understand and comprehend them, but they darted through too quickly. Images of the last few minutes spun around in her mind and left her reeling and confused. She tried her best to work out what she'd seen, what had happened to her and, most importantly of all, what Matthew now thought of her.

That morning she'd awoken to find him still asleep, his eyes firmly closed and his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek. She'd remained there for several moments, letting the wonderful sound of his steady breathing and the comfort of his closeness gently bring her out of her slumber. She'd allowed herself those few, brief moments of peace and tranquillity, basking in his warmth and nearness and letting her imagination take hold. In those few moments she hadn't even tried to stop the visions from floating through her mind, of her waking every morning like this, with her head resting on his chest and his hand in hers. She'd felt him stirring then, felt his body start to move beneath her and she'd quickly sat up and looked at him. She'd seen his eyes start to flicker and she'd leant over him, searching his face for any further signs of consciousness. His eyes had opened then, fully, suddenly, and it had caught Mary completely off guard. Like prey caught in the predators gaze, she'd been unable to look away, unable to hide the emotions and thoughts she'd been feeling. Mary didn't even try to shield herself from him then, she knew it would do no good, and so she'd let Matthew see the love in her eyes, the concern she felt for him and her overwhelming happiness that he was now waking. His beautiful blue eyes had held hers in wonder and she'd watched him awaken, his eyes slowly becoming brighter, clearer as his mind struggled through into reality.

"Mary?" She'd heard him ask, his voice weak from lack of use and full of questions and doubts. He'd tried to move towards her, but the sudden pain that ran through him stopped him and was reflected in his face.

"Don't move, Matthew," she'd almost whispered, just about resisting the urge to place her hand on his chest to prevent him from moving. He'd looked so fragile, so helpless and lost below her, not at all like the Matthew she'd once known, and it scared her deeply.

"Mary?" He'd asked again, his eyes starting to focus on her, recognise her and Mary had felt as if the entire world was holding its breath. This was the moment of truth, the moment when she'd know what course her future happiness would take, the moment when she'd know what he now felt for her. She tried to piece together what she saw in those deep blue eyes, but all she could see was confusion, questions and doubts. What was lying beneath this, she could not tell; the slumber and uncertainty that had been plaguing him since his accident still taking a while to clear.

When he'd reached out and touched her cheek, his fingers had burned her, the electricity they sent hurtling though her veins suddenly snapping her into action. Without even realising it, she'd found herself jumping up and backing away from him, putting distance between them in the hope she could somehow gain a small measure of control, some small degree of dignity. The panic and fear and frustration and dread and hope and longing that she'd been feeling for so long now had wound up her thoughts and emotions tighter than a clock spring and his touch had caused it to snap. When the eye contact between them had broken, Mary had felt all these emotions and thoughts bombard her and she was suddenly very scared, anxious and desperate. She'd waited so long to see him again, to see his intense blue eyes gaze upon her, to hear his voice and to feel his touch, but now it had happened, the moment had finally come, Mary was frightened, panicked. She suddenly didn't want to know what Matthew thought of her anymore, she couldn't handle what implications it may have for her future happiness and his.

Mary had felt the panic rising within her then, growing stronger and mixing with the anxiety and agitation she'd felt ever since he'd arrived here, two nights ago. It was twisting her thoughts and bombarding her mind with questions she could not, did not, want answering. She couldn't bear to look in his eyes anymore, to see what they would hold when the confusion faded. If she saw regard there, love for her, what should she do? Her ill fated night with Pamuk still hung like a guillotine blade above them, threatening to split them in two completely. Even if she could somehow tell him, if he could somehow come to terms with it, what then? She still didn't deserve him, she wasn't worthy of any of his love or affection. She knew she'd never be able to make up for all the hurt she'd unintentionally inflicted upon him. What if she saw nothing in his eyes? What if they became full of bitterness and anger? What would she do then? How would she be able to live with the look of hatred in his eyes and her own broken heart that she knew would never mend?

"Mary?" Matthew had asked again, his voice sounding so hurt, the hand that had touched her cheek reaching towards her. The hurt and pain in his voice had cut Mary deeply, but it also only confused her more. Her doubts and fears were still battling around inside her, warring with each other and preventing her from thinking straight. Was he hurt because she'd just jumped away from him? Was he hurt because he'd remembered what happened between them, how cruelly she had treated him? Was the hurt merely a reflection of everything he'd been through out on the battlefields, the pain from his injuries? Mary did not know; did not want to know, she was not brave enough to face whatever truth lay within his intense blue eyes and sorrowful voice.

She'd fought hard to gain control of her emotions then, to push down her feelings and not reveal them to Matthew, not when she was so uncertain of his feelings for her, but it was a losing battle. After everything she'd been through these last few days, she did not have enough strength left now to fight. When Matthew had called her name again, the voice clearer now, full of hurt and so many other emotions Mary did not, could not, allow herself to identify, she felt herself finally breaking down. It was suddenly all too much, all too frightening and more than she could bear. She needed air and she needed distance. Her natural instincts had kicked in then, self preservation finally taking hold, spurring her into action. It helped her regain some small morsel of dignity and maintain her composure long enough to mutter some excuse to Matthew, something about finding his mother, before she caved in completely and she fled the room. She'd banged the door behind her in her haste, cutting off Matthew's last cry to her. His pleading cry, full of longing and confusion, was lost as the sound of the door slamming shut had filled Mary's ears.

As Mary had leant against the shut door, her doubts and fears still haunted her, warring within her mind and turning her questions over and over again. What did Matthew now think of her? Just what had underlain the confusion and hurt she'd seen in his eyes? Had it been anger, bitterness, sorrow or perhaps… perhaps regard, maybe even love? Did he, could he possibly still truly care for her after all she'd put him through? Mary did not know and she couldn't piece it all together in her mind, she didn't even know if she wanted to, if it really mattered. Whatever he may now feel for her, he was better off without her. She couldn't ever deserve him; she could never be his, not now that she was unvirtuous and had treated him so wrongly. As these thoughts started to take over, Mary felt her troubled mind start to calm, felt her conflicting thoughts start to be pushed down against her own reasoning and logic. It was better this way, better that she didn't know whether he still cared for her.

She let herself touch her cheek then, still feeling her skin burn where he had touched her. She let herself imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like for Matthew to touch her again like that, to caress her skin and perhaps her lips; to kiss her and look deep into her eyes; to tell her that he loved her. He was only on the other side of the door she leant against. Mary knew she only had to open it and she'd see him, see his piercing blue eyes looking at her, hear his deep and wonderful voice talk to her, see what emotions laid within his eyes. Maybe she could even approach him, touch him, perhaps even kiss him; feel his fingers on her skin and his breath on her lips…

No. Mary quickly pushed the thoughts away. It would do no good, not now, now that she had ruined everything between them, had destroyed any happiness they might have shared with her stupid night with Pamuk. It pained her deeply, but she knew it was the best thing for both of them. Mary knew what she had to do now and the task, the purpose, the goal, gave her the strength she needed to see it through. She knew now she had to keep her distance from Matthew, if not physically, which she knew would be close to impossible, then at least emotionally. Whether he still cared for her or not, it was imperative that he never even suspect just how deeply she now realised she loved him, to not even be tempted to rekindle the regard he'd once held for her.

"Are you alright, Mary?" The gentle voice of Cousin Isobel asked her.

Mary suddenly jumped out her reverie and looked at the woman who was walking down the corridor towards her. Mary felt the blush creeping up into her cheeks as she became embarrassed to be caught in this state and her less than innocent thoughts about Matthew.

"It's Matthew," she answered quickly, dropping her head and refusing to meet Cousin Isobel's eyes, "he's awake."

Isobel's previous concern for Mary was quickly pushed away as her face brightened and the excitement bubbled through her. Mary just about had time to move out her way as the woman rushed past her and into the room.

Mary hung behind, not letting herself move far into the room, telling herself it was because she was kindly allowing Cousin Isobel time alone with her son. She watched her cousin rush forwards and draw Matthew to her, crushing him in an embrace that spoke volumes about her anxiety and worry these last few days. Mary knew the sudden movement must have caused Matthew a great deal of pain and she also realised that in her happiness, Cousin Isobel had forgotten this. Mary saw Matthew's face constrict into agony, but he made no sound, not wanting to upset his mother who was so relieved to see him awake.

Mary found herself suddenly envious of Cousin Isobel, of the way she clung onto Matthew, holding him tightly. She herself wanted to do that, to wrap her arms around him and never let him go, to hold him close and feel the warmth of him crushed to her forever more. But she couldn't, she knew that now, had always known it really, though only now did it appear so clearly to her.

She noticed Matthew watching her then, saw his eye catch hers over his mother's shoulder, saw a flicker of wonder and doubt cross his face, clearly visible over the pain that was etched into it from his injuries. She felt his eyes searching hers, his sudden and intense gaze trying to read her soul. She knew then that he suspected something, that he had seen the look of longing in her own eyes. For the space of a heartbeat Mary considered giving up on her earlier promise to herself; her promise to stay emotionally clear of Matthew as she momentarily forgot all her reasons for needing to stay away. It was almost enough to send her carefully constructed facade crashing down again. She wanted to tell him then, tell him how much she loved him and how much her heart ached for him. She wanted to pour out her soul to him, to tell him everything about Pamuk and beg him to give her another chance. The words were almost on her lips when she stopped herself.

No. She couldn't, she _wouldn't_ hurt Matthew again, wouldn't let him feel the pain of her own shame and have yet another reason to be disappointed in her. Besides, Mary told herself firmly, he probably didn't care anymore. Why would he after all the hurt she'd put him through, after all the time he'd spent away, fighting in a bitter and bloody war that had nearly cost him his life? It wasn't fair to make him have to deal with her complex, confused emotions now anyway, not when he had only just awakened from a life threatening fever. Whatever else may still be between them, the fact remained that he still needed time to heal, time to recover from the vicious wounds and trauma he had suffered in the war. Her own self centred thoughts only solidified things further for Mary, further proving just how much she could never deserve him.

All these thoughts and questions hurtled through Mary's mind in rapid succession and helped her regain her composure and build up her determination. Her walls went up firmly around her heart then, built securely this time, reinforced with the knowledge that is was the best thing for both of them, the best thing for her beloved Matthew.

She knew he was still watching her, searching her eyes and Mary tried her hardest to make them as blank as she could, making sure he saw nothing within them but friendly, cousinly concern and happiness for him. She saw the walls start to go up around Matthew's heart too, saw his eyes draw back from her, accepting what she wanted him to see. Just for a moment though, Mary thought she saw a flicker of sadness in his expression, of pain and heartbreak, just a small glimmer of what Matthew felt. But then it was gone, his eyes now distant, closed to her. Mary made herself push the thought away, didn't dare even try to comprehend what it may mean, whether she even imagined it, saw what her heart wanted her to see.

Mary felt the distance growing between them, felt the coldness creeping in, like a glacier growing higher and stronger, pushing them further apart. It was for the best, Mary told herself again, repeating it in her mind like a mantra, willing herself to believe it, accept it. It helped Mary stay calm, it strengthened her resolve and helped her push away the doubts about her decision. She pushed them down, deep within her heart, burying them away under the thick foundations of the fortress that now shielded her heart and soul, cutting them off from Matthew, cutting them off from herself.

As Mary saw Matthew also lock himself away from her, she felt her own heart break. It had shattered so many times into so many pieces these last few days, Mary was amazed it still found the strength to keep beating. This time it was different though, this time it was final. She had lost Matthew for good and as this new knowledge hit her, Mary felt the panic start to rise up within her again. She felt it reverberate around her carefully constructed barriers, making them tremble and quake. Mary knew she had to escape then, had to widen not just the emotional distance between them, but the physical distance too. With as much composure as she could muster, and avoiding Matthew's now cold eyes, she quickly informed them, "I'm just going to tell papa the good news."

Telling herself, and almost believing it, that Mary was only leaving Matthew alone so he could spend some time with his mother, Mary quickly turned and fled the room once more. She tried to push down the feeling that she was simply running away and continued the mantra in her mind. Matthew was better off without her. She could never let him know what she really felt for him, or let herself find out what he thought of her. It was for the best.


	12. Chapter 12

As Matthew watched Mary leave, he didn't quite know what to think. His mother had finally pulled away from him and the pain from her embrace still ran through his body. He hoped she didn't notice the look of pain that had crossed his face though; he didn't want to upset her. Matthew had to admit he felt quite ashamed then. He hadn't seen his mother in nearly two years and he knew that she missed him terribly and worried about him far more than was good for her. Even if it hadn't been for the concern he saw barely concealed beneath her beaming face, the letters she'd written to him whilst he'd been away would have been enough to convince him of this. He was pleased to see her of course, but his thoughts, like so many times, were fixed resolutely on Mary. He tried to push those thoughts away and gave his mother a warm smile and the full attention she deserved, trying his best to hide not only the pain he still felt, but his recent heartbreak at the hands of Mary.

His mother helped him to sit up and shook a pillow vigorously before placing it behind his back, making sure he was comfortable. Matthew was grateful for her help; he still found it incredibly difficult and painful to move, he suspected even speaking would take its toll on his pain barrier.

She sat down and looked at him expectantly, watching him intently and waiting for him to speak. He asked the obvious question, even though he'd already figured out the answer. "Where am I?"

His voice was still quite croaky, so his mother leant over with a glass of water and raised it to his lips. The cold water felt wonderful on his parched tongue and Matthew gulped it down, surprised at how thirsty he was.

"You're at Downton Abbey, Matthew," his mother answered. "You were brought here two nights ago."

"Why here?" Matthew asked, the question that was not quite so obvious. He knew he'd been injured of course, the pain whenever he even tried to think about moving was evidence enough for that, but why had he been brought here, of all places? Why wasn't he in some squalid war hospital on the edge of the battlefield in France? And why had _she_ been here?

After Mary had left him earlier, Matthew hadn't been sure how long he lay watching the closed door, as if almost hoping it would reopen and he'd see her again. For what seemed like an eternity, all sorts of jumbled thoughts had darted round his head, emotions spinning through his heart and leaving him even more confused and pained than ever. He found it next to impossible to decipher any of these thoughts and emotions and eventually he'd pushed it all down, focusing instead on the more imminent task; of trying to work out just where he was and what had happened to him. Matthew had fixed his attention on the room he was in and tried to piece together what was going on. The room was spacious, expensively yet simply furnished and a far cry from any war hospital he'd ever seen. The bed he lay in was a large, comfortable four poster bed, much more extravagant than any makeshift hospital stretchers found in the battlefields of France. When he'd taken all this into account, and the presence of Mary and the mention of his mother, he knew there was only one place he could be. Downton Abbey. The name of the place had suddenly brought hundreds of conflicting memories and emotions to him, some full of happiness and others sorrow. Before he'd had chance to even begin to comprehend all these thoughts though, to wonder what it all may mean, his mother had taken him quite by surprise as she'd rushed in and embraced him.

"You were badly injured, Matthew," his mother answered, bringing Matthew's thoughts back to the present. His mother's voice, though cheerful, was not fully managing to hide her underlying concern and the strain she'd been under recently. "They never should have brought you here, we don't know why they did. Though, if I'm perfectly honest, I'm quite glad you were sent here, where I can look after you."

She paused, reaching across and gently squeezing Matthew's hand as she wondered how much to tell him. She wasn't sure how much Matthew would be able to handle in his still weak and recovering condition. She looked him over properly then, her nurse's eye taking in his state of health and his apparent mental dexterity. Apart from some confusion that still lingered in his eyes, which was to be expected in his condition, and the pain he was trying to hide from her, he looked quite stable and sufficiently alert.

Matthew had sensed his mother's delay and encouraged her to say more by asking, "What happened?" He wanted to ask more, but his voice, weakened by his condition and lack of use, didn't seem capable of expanding the questions that ran around his mind.

"You nearly died, Matthew." Isobel said the words bluntly, quickly, and tried to keep her voice as professional as possible, but she couldn't help the catch in her voice at the end. She watched Matthew react to her words; saw his expression change as he took in their full meaning. For a few moments his face showed only disbelief, then he looked almost annoyed, as if he thought she'd exaggerated. But as Isobel held his eyes, she saw him start to understand just how serious things had been. He seemed too shocked to speak then, so Isobel filled in the questions she knew he must have.

"When you were brought here, you were suffering from a life threatening fever. We think you must have caught it on the journey here." Isobel swallowed, nervously, not quite wanting to relive that horrific night. "You were lucky you survived, Matthew, very lucky."

Isobel let Matthew digest the news, let him come to terms with what had happened to him. Matthew didn't quite know what to think. To be told he'd come so close to death was not something he'd ever experienced before. There were times in the war, whenever they went out into No Man's Land to be fair, when he wondered if this would be his last battle, his last day on this earth. So far he'd always been lucky, though sadly many of his comrades had not. It was part of a soldier's duty though, to get out and fight every day, forcing away all the fears of never knowing if he would return home. Now that he had, it seemed easy to make light of his current predicament and he was tempted to think his mother was exaggerating, her motherly concern causing her to overreact. However, the tired, drained look in her eyes; the weariness and anxiety that were hiding in her expression, told him otherwise. She looked so much older than when he'd last seen her on the day he'd left for war, nearly two years ago now. He knew from her letters and Cousin Robert's that she worked very hard at the hospital and Matthew was worried that it was all taking its toll too much on her. He didn't consider how many years her face had aged due to her worries about her only son. He would never understand how greatly the last few days had aged her; how the distress for her critically injured son and the strain and nightmare of coping with his injuries would forever haunt her.

Isobel had tried hard to conceal her fears in her letters and she knew her son would be too modest to realise just how much she'd worried about him, how much the whole family had. She tried to brighten the melancholy atmosphere then with a cheerful smile and another gentle squeeze of her son's hand. It seemed to bring Matthew back to the present, for he focused on her again, drawing out of his own thoughts about his near death and he gave her a warm smile in return. There was no use remembering her earlier horror of that frightful night, Isobel thought, her son was with her now, perhaps not quite sound, but perfectly safe and finally awake.

"Still, it doesn't matter now, Matthew," she said, voicing her thoughts and keeping her tone affectionate. "You're safe now and well cared for here."

"How have you been, mother?" Matthew asked, concerned for her and the exhausted look on her face, which she was unsuccessfully concealing from him.

Isobel was surprised at the question and was both proud of her son for thinking of her wellbeing under the presence circumstances and anxious not to cause him any unnecessary worry when he needed to simply focus on his own recovery. She didn't want to add anymore to his own troubles, so she smiled warmly at him again and gently squeezed his hand once more. "I'm just happy that you are safe and awake."

"How long have I been asleep?" Matthew asked then, unable to remember what his mother had said about how long he had been here for.

"The fever passed on the night you were brought here, two nights ago now. It left you very weak, Matthew." Isobel paused before she continued, again wondering how much information to tell Matthew at this stage. "It will take some time for you to recover, Matthew. The fever has passed, but your injuries need time to heal."

At the mention of his injuries Matthew, for the first time, tried to comprehend just what injuries he had sustained. It seemed as if every cell in his body cried out in pain, so it was difficult to work out just where the pain was greatest. A quick glance down showed him that his right arm was in a heavy plaster and his left in a tight bandage.

He tried to move his fingers in his right arm, the fingers that his mother was clutching almost possessively. It hurt a great deal, but he could move them, a fact which made him feel slightly better. He was suddenly reminded that this was the hand that had gently touched Mary's cheek earlier, causing her to jump away from him. He immediately suppressed those thoughts though and hoped his mother read the sudden flicker of pain in his eyes as being due to his injury.

He tried to lift his arm, but it was heavy and painful and his mother quickly placed a hand over it, keeping it in place. "Don't try to move your arm, Matthew," she quickly urged. "It's been badly broken and it will take longer to heal if you don't keep it still."

Matthew relented to her words, though he tried to life his other arm instead. His left didn't hurt quiet so much and he was able to lift it to his face, to inspect whatever damage had been done there. He felt a few bandages, many cuts and what felt like bruises, as they suddenly stung at the pressure of his touch. He couldn't see his other injuries as they lay below the thick blanket covering him.

Isobel saw Matthew's wondering eye and sighed. She did not want to tell Matthew about his leg now, did not want to worry him until they had more news on what would become of it. She decided that only half the information would be necessary at this stage.

"You've got many cuts and bruises, Matthew, though I'm afraid your right leg is rather worse for wear. It is very badly broken and will have to remain still, for it will take a good long time to heal."

Matthew nodded slightly at her words, though even that small movement sent another wave of pain through him. So he had a broken arm and a broken leg and many minor injuries. That didn't seem so bad, he thought, not when he remembered some of the horrific injuries he'd seen out on the battlefields.

"But what am I doing up here?" Matthew finally asked one of the questions that had been puzzling him since he'd awoken. The room he was in was a far cry from the Downton Abbey hospital his mother had described to him in her letters.

His mother gave him a strange look. His question surprised her and she answered quickly, without really thinking. "Well, the hospital downstairs is hardly the place for a future earl, Matthew. You were given one of the guest rooms in the house instead."

"I hope you didn't insist too much, mother," Matthew replied, his weak voice still managing to show his sudden annoyance at her words. He disliked and usually opposed any special treatment that was offered due to his future position as an earl. He'd done his best to make sure very few people in the army knew that one day he would inherit a great estate and title. He didn't want and never asked for any special privileges and, even now, his promotion to Captain a year ago still bothered him. He could not fully discount his suspicions that Lord Grantham had played a role in his promotion, who Matthew knew was high up in the war office. Matthew had to admit there were advantages to his higher position though. He'd enjoyed the new roles and responsibilities it had brought him and it meant he could make sure his men were fairly treated, as many in other companies were not.

The thought that even now he was being given special treatment upset him and he'd always thought his mother knew better than to try to wrangle any for him.

His mother soon set him straight though, as she answered, "It was Cora who asked for you to be brought up here, before I had even arrived."

"Cousin Cora?" Matthew repeated, shocked at his mother's words and surprisingly pleased. He'd never quite known what Lady Grantham thought of him and the idea that she would insist he be given his own room in her home filled him with pleasure. He had become so distant to the family over the last two years, his only communication with Cousin Robert and even then it was mainly concerning the estate and the war itself. Cousin Cora's concern and actions made him feel more like a part of things again at the grand house, more a part of the family again, which he'd started to feel before he'd left for war.

"Yes Matthew," his mother answered his short remark, "she was quite worried about you. She didn't want you to stay downstairs in the hospital and knew you'd be more comfortable up here." Isobel paused in her speech then, again contemplating how much to tell Matthew. Deciding he may as well know the worst of it, she sighed as she continued, "It's a good job too Matthew, as I'm afraid you'll probably be here for a long time."

"How long?" Matthew suddenly asked, his mother's tone worrying him.

"A few months perhaps."

"A few months!" Matthew exclaimed. He'd imagined a few weeks at most, but a few months, stuck here? It was unthinkable!

"I'm afraid so, Matthew. It will take time for you to fully recover; your injuries are very severe."

Matthew sank back into the pillow despondently. A few months felt like a lifetime. How would he cope, being cooped up here? In this room in Downton Abbey, the place he'd been avoiding for nearly two years. The place full of so many memories and disappointments. The place where she lived. Mary. How would he be able to bear seeing her around, staying in the same house as she? She'd made her feelings for him quite clear earlier, when she'd disappeared when he'd awoken

Still, despite her sudden rush to leave him, Matthew was still confused as to why he'd awoken to find her at his bedside, holding his hand. His confusion helped him find the courage to ask the big question, the one which had been plaguing him since he'd first seen her. Since he'd first felt her presence and imagined her in his dreams. "What was Mary doing here?" He asked the question quietly, hoping his mother didn't sense the deep urgency and wonder in his voice.

Isobel blinked in surprise at Matthew's question, not quite understanding why he even needed to ask. She searched his face, trying to understand what lay behind his query. Her son's face was closed to her, his expression firm, but she could still sense there was more to his question than simple curiosity. She therefore chose her words very carefully as she answered, "She was concerned about you, Matthew."

Matthew looked away at his mother's words and her intense, searching gaze. His mouth set into a hard line as he tried to take in what his mother had said. Concern for him was one thing, he thought bitterly, but it wasn't quite what he'd found himself hoping for when he'd first awoken. Matthew didn't dare let himself decipher what he'd been hoping for before then, what dreams he'd tried to hide from himself in the two years he'd been away from Downton Abbey and her.

"She's hardly left your side since you arrived, Matthew," Isobel continued. "She's been helping me to look after you and also keeping me company."

Matthew suddenly looked at his mother in surprise. Was his mother speaking the truth? Had Mary really stayed with him all that time? If so, perhaps his dream of her; of her being so close to him, taking care of him, were true too? Perhaps his other hazy visions of her; of her leaning in so close, caressing his face and revealing love in her eyes… perhaps they were also true? Yet if that was the case, Matthew told himself with enough strong determination to make himself believe it, she wouldn't have run off, away from him like she had. The pain the memory brought back was enough to help him push thoughts of her down again, back where they lingered on the edge of his thoughts, never truly going away. It seemed as if Mary was just as much of a puzzle to him as she'd ever been.

Isobel had seen the confused and somewhat pained look in her son's eyes and she knew full well that this time it was not due to his injuries. She didn't know quite what had happened between Mary and her son when he'd awoken, but she had a feeling it was far from positive. The distant and guarded looks that had passed between Lady Mary and her son had not gone unnoticed by Isobel and she also remembered how distressed Mary had looked when Isobel had found her outside Matthew's room earlier. She sighed as she wished again that she'd been here when Matthew had properly awakened. If only she hadn't chosen that moment to check on the state of the hospital downstairs. Maybe if she'd been here, she could have helped diffuse the obvious tension and trouble that had sprung up between them. Maybe she might have even coaxed them to admit what they really felt for each other. It was clear that Mary had not made Matthew privy to the same information Isobel had realised on the night Matthew arrived; that the seemingly cold and heartless Lady Mary loved her son very deeply. It was also clear that, despite his infrequent mentions of her in his letters, Matthew still cared greatly for Lady Mary.

Matthew sensed that his mother was about to say something important then, something which he probably didn't want to hear. He watched her take a deep breath and look somewhat determined. As she opened her mouth, about to speak, the door suddenly opened and in walked Lord and Lady Grantham, followed by the rest of the family.

Matthew, though by now he knew he shouldn't be, was very surprised at seeing all the family crowding into his room. He was even more surprised by the beaming smiles on their faces; well on everyone's faces but Mary. She still looked distant, guarded, and she was avoiding looking at him. Matthew tried hard not to look at her as she stayed lingering on the edge of the doorway, behind her sisters. Instead he focused his attention on Lord Grantham, who was walking towards him, a broad smile on his face.

"My dear Matthew," Robert began, "how good it is to see you awake, you've given us all quite a scare." He reached forwards then, as if about to shake Matthew's hand, but the bandages and plaster on Matthew's arms stopped him.

The delight on the family's faces, and Lord Grantham's kind words, immediately helped Matthew feel more comfortable and welcome. After he had left them to go to war, he hadn't been too sure how they would react when he saw them again, if he ever did. Seeing their glowing smiles helped put the doubts and fears he didn't knew he possessed somewhat to rest.

"How are you feeling, Matthew?" Cousin Violet asked, stepping further into the room and looking positively exuberant at seeing him, as she sat on the chair by his bedside, opposite his mother. Matthew was sure this was the first time Cousin Violet had ever seemed pleased to see him; in fact he was sure it was the first he'd even seen her smile! If Matthew ever needed any further proof of how close to death he'd come, and how worried they'd all been about him, it was there on the face of the Dowager Countess of Grantham.

His surprise stunned him into silence for a few moments, until he finally found the words to say, "I'm quite tired and it's rather difficult to move, but" he paused as he saw the look of worry on their faces and struggled to make his frail voice continue, "I'm pleased to be here and see you all." Well, Matthew thought, it wasn't quite a lie. He was surprisingly pleased to see them, especially as they all looked so pleased to see him, even if the fact that he was back here, at Downton, didn't altogether fill him with comfort.

"Do you remember what happened to you?" Cousin Robert asked, sitting down at the edge of Matthew's bed.

Matthew shook his head, then instantly regretted the movement as it resulted in a fresh wave of pain to ripple through him. Ever since he'd woken, Matthew had been trying to piece together what had happened, but it was all so distant; just a string of images of the battlefield which didn't quite tie together. "I can't really remember much," he finally answered. "I'm sorry."

"You may remember more in time, Matthew," his mother said, tapping his hand consolingly as she saw the concern in Matthew's face.

Matthew smiled at his mother, hoping she was right. Something suddenly struck him and he asked quickly, "What's the date today?"

"It's the 14th May," Cousin Cora answered, looking at him with quite a deal of concern.

The news shocked Matthew – it was May! Already! He couldn't remember the exact day when he'd last fought on those horrifying battlefields, but he knew it had been sometime in April. How long had he been unconscious for? The missing last few weeks of his life troubled him and he tried again, fruitlessly, to remember what had happened to him.

"Don't worry Matthew," Cousin Robert encouraged, cutting into Matthew's thoughts. "I fully intend to get to the bottom of this and find out why on earth you were brought here in the state you were."

"Please don't trouble yourself," Matthew said quickly, his weak voice suddenly becoming determined and concerned. "It doesn't matter now." He didn't want Lord Grantham to go to any trouble on his behalf and the worry that he may bothered Matthew.

"On the contrary," Robert replied, "it matters a great deal! Some serious errors of judgement were made and I don't want those same errors to befall anyone else."

"We must find out who's to blame for this awful mistake," Cousin Violet suddenly said, her voice full of indignation at the heir to her estate being treated so carelessly.

"It's lucky you survived, Matthew," Cora chipped in, making sure her mother in law couldn't continue on in her tirade. "Your injuries had been seen to so terribly."

"We don't even know how you managed to survive the journey across the channel, you were so badly hurt," Edith added, determined to get a word in. Everyone suddenly shot her reproachful looks for her insensitive words. Edith didn't feel chastised though, merely annoyed, she'd only been trying to help, she thought bitterly. To show she didn't care about what they thought, she added, "You were in a horrific state when you got here, Mary was quite beside herself."

Isobel's face paled at Edith's reminder and Matthew couldn't help but take that opportunity to look at Mary. She seemed to have ignored Edith's comments though and was looking resolutely into the distance, as if she were merely bored at the proceedings.

Not always one for understanding his daughters, Robert continued on from Edith's remark, "Yes, Mary was most worried about you, Matthew." His eyes were shining as he spoke and he was trying hard not to smile. "She's barely left your bedside since you arrived here. I've never seen Mary so attentive to one of our guest before."

"Oh, don't exaggerate papa!" Mary said, sounding a combination of bored and flippant, with perhaps a hint of unease, though Matthew wasn't sure if he was imagining that. Cousin Robert's words pleased him though, it added weight to the same news earlier from his mother and Matthew was certainly more predisposed to believe the Earl over his mother. He couldn't help but look again at Mary. She had taken to fiddling with her necklace and had moved towards the window, her head turned sideways as she gazed out. Whether she was just avoiding catching anyone's eye, or something interesting had struck her attention outside, Matthew couldn't tell.

Before Matthew could really digest this new information, Sybil began talking. She sensed the tension in the air and decided to diffuse the atmosphere by speaking up. With her usual tone of cheerful optimism, she said, "I'm very glad you did come here, Matthew, and are safe now. We've all been waiting for you to wake up."

"Well, I'm glad to be awake and I hope I can recover soon." After a small cough at his prolonged speaking, Matthew did his best to smile at Sybil. He was pleased at her kind words and touched by the way she was showing such concern for him, concern that they all seemed to be showing for him.

"I'm afraid it won't be for a while though, Matthew," his mother reminded them, not wanting him, or anyone else, to get their hopes up too much.

"Well, Matthew's welcome to stay here with us as long as he needs to," Cora said. She noticed Matthew looking as if he were about to protest, so she continued speaking. "It will be our pleasure to have you as our guest Matthew." She nodded at Isobel then and reminded her of her earlier invitation to the women, "You're more than welcome to stay too, Isobel, the room next door is all made up for you."

"Thank you, Cora," Isobel said, feeling much more appreciative of Lady Grantham's offer this time. She knew Matthew would be here for a while and she didn't like the idea of going back to her empty house without him. Isobel made a point of looking at Matthew then too, reprimanding him for the protests she knew her proud and independent son would soon be making. Matthew seemed to understand her look and kept his mouth shut, instead just carefully nodding his thanks at Lady Grantham.

"We can't have the heir to Downton Abbey staying in that awful hospital downstairs," Violet said vehemently, banging her walking stick on the floor for emphasis. "It's a wonder any of the poor soldiers who arrive make it out of that place recovered! Thanks goodness Matthew was brought away from that awful excuse for a hospital."

Isobel was about to speak then, to defend the hospital she took great pride in. She knew the facilities were somewhat limited, but she worked very hard to keep it running well, as did all the nurses who were under her charge.

Cora sensed a disagreement brewing between the two women and started speaking, just about managing to cut off Isobel's words before they'd been spoken. "Whilst Matthew would be perfectly fine in the hospitals downstairs, I'm sure he'll be much more comfortable up here in his own room. He is a member of the family after all." Cora smiled warmly at Matthew and Isobel, hoping to reassure them that this really was the best option for everyone.

"We really would be delighted to have you stay, Matthew, for as long as you want." Robert added, mimicking his wife's warm smile and helping to make Isobel feel more at ease.

Matthew himself, though he was greatly pleased at their words, would still have been far happier with the other soldiers, downstairs. He didn't want to be treated differently because of his connections, though he knew better than to say anything just then.

Even if Matthew had wanted to voice his protests, he wouldn't have had chance, for that moment Dr Morris appeared in the doorway. His sudden appearance made them all wonder if he'd somehow sensed that someone had been disparaging his beloved hospital. He urgently and somewhat rudely pushed passed the three sisters and entered the room, making his presence clearly known. He would have pushed passed Lord and Lady Grantham too, but he noticed then the Dowager Countess sat down by his patient's bedside. He suddenly stopped and looked almost flustered for a moment, not wanting to upset her Ladyship. He'd learnt well enough the respect she expected the first day he had met her and if there was anyone who could put the proud doctor in his place, it was the regal Dowager Countess. He quickly regained his composure though and continued on with what he'd been about to say. "Ah, Mr Crawley, I'm glad to see you are now awake. How are you feeling?"

Even if it wasn't for the string of nurses that had followed the doctor into the room, Matthew would have known immediately that this man was no other than Dr Morris. He was exactly as his mother had initially described him in her letters; full of self importance, pride and mild contempt for those both above and below him in the social order.

Isobel noticed her son's reaction to the new doctor and she couldn't help but smile at Matthew's look of mild amusement, peculiarity and disdain, as he considered this new doctor in front of him.

Matthew quickly searched his mother's face before answering the doctor's question. The last thing he wanted was to offend his mother by letting the doctor exert his authority and take charge, when his mother had previously been the professional at the helm. His mother was smiling though and Matthew took this as acceptance of the doctor's command and answered him. "I feel quite weak and the injuries do hurt, but," he added, not wanting to upset anyone, as the family's faces had grown somewhat ashen at his words, "I think I'm fine."

"Well, I'll be the judge of that!" Dr Morris answered curtly, as he tried to assert his authority. He looked like he was about to push everyone out, but the Dowager Countess' scathing look stopped him and he said, very politely for him, "I'd be grateful if everyone could leave Mr Crawley's room now, I'd like to check his wounds."

"Yes of course," Robert answered. He jumped up off Matthew's bed and did his best to usher his family out of the room. His mother, for a moment, looked as if she'd like to remain, almost as if she wanted to annoy and disobey the doctor. He gave her a hidden, pleading look which she simply ignored, so he pressed her "Come along now mother, we don't want to delay the doctor and prolong Matthew's recovery."

Violet made a show of considering her sons words and then ignoring them, remaining resolutely in her seat.

Isobel, who was still smarting from Violet's earlier comment about the hospital, decided to get her revenge and said, "If Cousin Violet would like to stay, I'm sure her help would be much appreciated in cleaning Matthew's injured leg." Her voice was perfectly measured, polite and friendly, though the reason for her words was not lost on anyone, least of all Matthew. He was finding it hard not to smile at the battle of wills between his mother and his cousin. Some things, it seemed, never changed.

The rebuke behind Isobel's words was not lost on Violet either, who stood up in indignation. "Do I look like a lowly nurse!" Her brusque voice was sufficiently offended to make all those in the room smile, though they were careful not to let Violet notice as she scanned everyone's faces. The nurses and the doctor, who were less used to it all, dropped their gaze to the floor and avoided her penetrating stare.

"Now, I think I will go and finish my breakfast!" She stalked out of the room then, her walking stick banging on the floor loudly as her family followed her out, silently and obediently, though still trying to hide their smiles. Only Mary looked less than amused at the recent proceedings, her expression was troubled instead and she lingered in the entranceway, as if contemplating whether to follow or not. Matthew caught her eye then, for one of the few times since she'd entered the room with her family. Matthew knew she'd been avoiding looking at him, but he saw then a multitude of conflicting emotions flicker across her face, her expression suddenly anxious, panicked. As Matthew held her gaze, he saw her expression change, as if she'd reached a decision, and she began to emotionally draw back from him, becoming guarded and closed to him once more. With a polite and rather cold nod at him, she turned and followed her family out of the door.

Sybil remained and her sudden question helped Matthew force down his sudden confused thoughts about Mary, which had sprung forth once more. "Can I stay and help, Cousin Isobel?" She asked tentatively. Her hands twisting in front of her, as if she were a little nervous.

"Of course!" Isobel answered, pleased that the young girl wanted to help her son and always glad to give a fellow nurse a chance to practice her skills.

Matthew smiled at Sybil warmly too, remembering his mother telling him about Sybil training to be a nurse. He was surprisingly touched at Sybil's concern and obvious desire to help. Sybil herself seemed to almost glow under the warm smiles of her cousins. A fact that was not lost on Mary, as she'd looked round to take one last look into Matthew's room before she left. A look which Mary found surprisingly worrying.


	13. Chapter 13

_Massive, massive thanks to OrangeShipper for all her help and for putting up with my pestering! Thanks so much for still reading and I hope you enjoy it. _

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When Mary closed the door behind her and watched her family walk away, she noticed her father remaining behind, lingering outside the doorway. It was obviously to talk to her in private, for he pulled her off to one side as soon as she'd shut the door, though there was no one about who could hear.

Standing outside Matthew's door once more reminded Mary far too painfully of what had happened the last time she'd left it. She'd been too afraid to face her family in the state she was in, so she'd delayed by first seeking solace in her room. She needed time to regain her composure and her pretence. Mary had immediately felt better once she'd shut the door of her bedroom and collapsed on her bed. Far away from Matthew, it had been easy to convince herself once more of her earlier promises; to keep her distance from Matthew and make sure he never discovered what she really felt for him. After a short while, Mary had felt collected enough to seek out her family and had headed, with a determined stride, to the makeshift drawing room. Her father had jumped up when she'd entered and her family had looked up in surprise. They hadn't seen Mary away from Matthew's room for two days and Mary's sudden appearance meant there was major news to impart.

"Matthew is awake," Mary had announced quickly, her calm composure slipping slightly as she'd tried not to betray the happiness she felt in that news. She'd managed to grasp it and maintain it though, as she watched her family stand up and exclaim their exuberant delights. They'd then immediately left their breakfast and began walking hurriedly to Matthew's room. Mary had lingered behind for a moment, suddenly unsure of herself and what to do, but then her own desire to see Matthew once more made her follow. As Mary got nearer to Matthew's room though, she'd found herself dragging further behind. She knew she'd have to see Matthew again soon, but she wasn't sure quite how prepared she would be. As her family had entered his room, Mary had hung back, hiding behind them and doing her best to avoid eye contact with anyone, least of all Matthew. She'd only half listened to the ongoing conversation; her focus instead on trying not to think about nor look at him. Luckily the only person who seemed to notice this was Matthew himself, which simply helped to solidify the distance between them. The few times she'd unwittingly caught his eye, she'd quickly thrown up all her shields and kept herself hidden from him, a task that seemed to become easier with each attempt. Mary hadn't failed to notice the way Sybil had seemed so keen to help Matthew though, and the smile he had given her sister worried her still and distracted her thoughts.

Her father had started talking now and Mary did her best to push her thoughts aside and listen.

"Now, I don't want to worry your mother, but I fear Matthew will be here for quite some time."

Mary nodded at her father's words, something she herself had come to realise. She waited for her father to continue, suddenly quite apprehensive of what he may say, though she kept her expression indifferent.

"I know someone like Matthew will find life as a patient exceedingly trying, so perhaps…" He paused for a moment, watching Mary's face for any sign of reaction. She was wearing her usual expression of cool detachment and boredom, so he decided he may as well continue. "Perhaps you could be kind enough to keep him company whilst he recovers?"

"Keep Matthew company?" Mary exclaimed, rather dumbfounded at the request and not quite sure she had understood correctly. "You would like me to keep Matthew company?"

"I wouldn't want Cousin Isobel worrying about him being on his own, not when her hospital work is so important. But if she knew you were with him, I know it would make her feel far happier."

Mary wasn't sure for a moment what to make of her father's request. On the one hand, he was giving her the very excuse she craved for, to stay by Matthew's side. Yet, in light of her recent promise regarding Matthew, she wasn't sure having such an excuse was necessarily a good idea. She looked at her father, trying to see if there were any ulterior motives there, whether he was perhaps pushing her onto Matthew. If there were, he hid it well, for all Mary could see was his concern for his heir and his slight pleading for her to agree.

"It only need be a little while each day, Mary, until he is able to get around himself," her father pressed, sensing her hesitation. "It's just so he knows we've not forgotten him and so he doesn't get too bored."

Without even realising she'd come to a decision, Mary found herself nodding her acceptance, though she knew she really had little choice. She tried to tell herself it was because she didn't want to further disappoint her father, but she knew herself better than that. Noticing her father's pleased look, Mary was suddenly worried she'd been too eager, so she quickly retracted. Keeping her tone disdainful and somewhat annoyed, she said, "I suppose as the eldest daughter it is obviously my duty to look after the heir!"

Her father looked at her worriedly, not sure whether to take his daughter's indignant words seriously. He knew well enough how she often said things she did not mean and he hoped this was the case here. Robert had to admit, he'd been secretly pleased at the affection Mary had recently shown towards Matthew. Whilst he didn't pretend to understand what had happened between them, Mary's coolness and aloof nature since the war started had left him rather worried about the future between them. Her recent concern for his heir had given him hope and he didn't want to ruin anything now. He knew his daughter's stubborn character would only make things worse if she felt pressured into looking after Matthew. "I could always ask Edith, or perhaps Sybil, but it would be a shame to take her away from her nursing."

"No!" Mary exclaimed quickly, too quickly judging by her father's sudden shocked expression. Quickly recovering herself, Mary added, "You don't need to bother Edith or Sybil." She gave her father a begrudging smile as she continued. "I doubt Matthew would find Edith particularly stimulating company and Sybil," Mary paused, surprising herself with how much she disliked that idea, "she will be needed in the hospital."

Robert looked at his daughter quizzically, trying hard to read what she really thought, but his daughter's face was as difficult to read as it ever was. "As I said, I would ask your mother, but I don't want to worry her and I think Matthew may find her continual fussing rather tiresome."

"Well, you know that's nothing you need worry about with me," Mary remarked. When her father looked surprised at her comment, she continued, her voice resigned. "It's alright father, I know my duty and I'm sure I can manage to spare some time to sit with Matthew. After all, it's not as if I have anything else to do!" She didn't add that she wasn't too sure Matthew would appreciate it.

Her father's bright smile was Mary's reward for submitting and he was very relieved and pleased that Mary had now willingly conceded to his idea. Turning his mind to other matters, and not noticing the slight contempt in Mary's voice as she'd finished speaking, he asked her, "Will you take some breakfast with us, Mary?"

Mary was about to say no, even now she didn't have much of an appetite, but she knew it would be a while before the nurses would finish treating Matthew. She also decided that spending some time with her family, _away_ from Matthew, may help undo some of the damage her recent behaviour had done to her apparent heartless reputation. She smiled at her father and nodded. "Some breakfast would be nice, thank you papa."

Her father's smile broadened even more and without saying another word to Mary, he began walking back towards their current dining room. Mary fell into stride beside him and was glad of his silence. It left her to ponder about her father's new task for her and what it may mean. Though she was far too pleased to be given an excuse to stay at Matthew's bedside, she was worried about how she'd be able to keep her distance from him emotionally, or even how well they may get on. After all, their previous meeting had been rather tense and before then, before Matthew had left for war, things had been very distant and cold between them.

These thoughts seemed unable to leave Mary and even when she'd sat down to breakfast, they still plagued her mind and twisted her stomach into so many knots even the thought of eating nauseated her. She did her best to appear nonchalant, keeping her expression apathetic and her countenance dispassionate, but she wasn't sure it fooled her family. She knew full well what they made of her recent behaviour and she knew she had to try to repair the damage now. She had to convince her family of her indifference towards Matthew, had to make sure they didn't get any ideas about them, or worse, pass them onto Matthew.

It didn't help that the conversation flying around the table was unsurprisingly about Matthew; about his recovery, his recent brush with death and how pleased they were to see him awake. As much as Mary wanted to join in these gushing exultations and delight at her cousin's improvement in health, it only served to torment her more and make it harder for her to maintain her indifferent composure.

They kept on looking at her too, watching her. They were too well behaved to acutely stare, but far too frequently did Mary feel their probing eyes upon her, trying to make her out. Her thoughts were far too preoccupied and jumbled to think of any flippant remarks to throw their scent off her trail though and she simply remained silent. She avoided their searching eyes, instead staring resolutely at her plate and pushing her food around, occasionally finding the courage to take another bite.

It was all becoming too much for Mary and, with a louder crash than she intended, she dropped her cutlery down and pushed her plate away. Standing up and ignoring the silence that had befallen her own noise, she remarked, with more frustration and bitterness than she intended, "Excuse me, but I have a headache, I think I will lie down." Then, further ignoring their stunned looks, she walked away, just about managing to keep her footsteps relatively steady and unhurried.

Her family watched her leave with more than enough worried, shocked and sympathetic glances between them. They all waited until the door was slammed shut behind her before anyone spoke.

"Why is she behaving so?" Her grandmother asked, her face looking somewhat bemused as she broke the silence that followed Mary's sudden exit.

"She's been through a lot these last few days," Cora answered sympathetically, her own voice troubled as she tried, yet again, to make sense of her eldest daughter.

Cora, like them all, had assumed Matthew's awakening and imminent recovery would cheer Mary and help open the bridge of communication between them. Mary's behaviour this morning though, her aloof countenance, distant manner and resigned, defeated attitude, did not quite fit the plans they'd all been making in their minds. They weren't sure what to make of this new conduct and the thinly veiled anxiety and troubled expression they'd seen laying beneath. It was a far cry from the Mary of the last few days, when they'd seen her close to collapse, deeply distressed and incredibly concerned for their cousin, a concern which had surpassed the deep anxiety of the rest of the family. They'd all taken it as a sign that Mary still felt deeply for Matthew and, after news of his recovery had reached them, had secretly hoped things between Lady Mary and her father's heir would finally be reconciled, perhaps even resulting in the match that would be so beneficial to all.

Well, everyone had hoped for that except Edith. Matthew was far too good for her heartless elder sister and Edith had always thought he'd had made quite a lucky escape. Her sister's behaviour today only confirmed to Edith that Mary did not, nor doubtful ever would, deserve kind, honest and handsome Matthew.

"Mary's probably just annoyed that Matthew didn't start proposing when he first awoke," she said, somewhat cruelly and was once again rewarded with more reproachful looks from her family.

"I'm sure she just needs a bit of time to herself," Robert added, ignoring Edith's remarks and hoping, rather than believing, his own to be the case. "Once she's had a good rest, I'm sure she'll be herself again." His words troubled him though. He knew as well as anyone that Mary being herself was not necessarily a good thing in the present circumstances. Perhaps pushing his daughter to spend time with Matthew was not such a good idea after all. Still, it was too late to change his mind now and he convinced himself that Matthew _did_ need someone to keep him company and that Mary _could_ be entertaining enough when it suited her.

"I'm just going to check on Mary," Cora announced, standing up and hurrying out of the room before anyone could answer her.

"Really, one would think Matthew had just died the way everyone's acting," Violet remarked dryly, looking over her tea cup at her son and not at all liking the darker, melancholy atmosphere that had recently invaded the room.

"We're all just rather tired, mama. You know well enough we're all very glad that Matthew is awake." Robert gave his mother a pointed look before turning his attention again to his breakfast, though thoughts of Mary and Matthew still stayed lingering around the room, pervading their thoughts and further blackening the atmosphere.

When Mary had reached her room, the first thing she did after shutting the door was to sit on the edge of her bed. She dropped her head in her hands and willed her current, distressed thoughts away. Everything was proving so much harder than she expected. She knew keeping her distance from Matthew wouldn't be easy, especially now after her father's request, but she hadn't counted on how much more difficult her family were making it. How could she continue to hide her feelings from them and remain aloof when they were constantly bombarding her defences with talk about Matthew? How could she keep her earlier promises and convince herself this was needed with their constant reminders and praises of his virtues?

Away from her family though, and their probing, questioning looks, Mary found herself starting to feel somewhat better. It was easier to think, to concentrate and to regain her composure when she was alone. Mary realised they didn't know what to make of her changeable behaviour, but she hoped to convince them soon enough of her disinterest. She knew full well her actions and conduct over the last few days showed otherwise, that her anxious behaviour today didn't help, but she knew her subsequent behaviour _must_ convince them. If they only saw indifferent attachment from her now, she hoped it wouldn't be long before they started to believe it.

She was thankful again for the favour her father had asked of her, of keeping Matthew company. It would help explain away any desire Mary had to stay with him; desires Mary didn't know if she'd ever fully be able to resist. She had to be careful though; she knew that her charade of nonchalance was at risk of breaking at any time. It kept on slipping and leaving her vulnerable, especially to Matthew's penetrating gaze. She'd been well aware that Matthew had been watching her, very intently at times, as if his eyes were searching for some indication of what she thought of him. Whether this meant that Matthew was simply curious, wondering at her presence and behaviour; perhaps afraid to hurt her if his feelings had changed; or maybe because he did still care for her? Mary did not know, knew she couldn't know; it was easier that way, for her not to be tempted. It didn't help though that both her sister and her father had the gall to talk about Mary and how she'd behaved since Matthew had arrived. Their words had been most embarrassing and Mary hated to think what Matthew thought about it all. She also didn't know what Cousin Isobel may have told him and Mary was growing increasingly concerned that Matthew may find foundation for his obvious suspicions.

Mary sighed again as she tried to think more practically about it all. There was nothing she could do now about what Matthew may know. Her behaviour over the last few days was not something she could change, nor could she prevent others from mentioning it. All she could do now was make sure he found no further evidence for his suspicions. She must stick to her earlier promise and make sure Matthew saw nothing from her but friendship and cousinly regard.

She made herself look only to the short term; to the next few weeks or months when Matthew would be here at Downton. All she had to do was convince him and her family of her indifference. Then, when he was fully recovered, he would be leaving Downton and things would return to the way they were, or at least she could pretend they had. The thought that Matthew may just return to war when he'd recovered was too troubling for Mary and she immediately pushed the thought away. The war would surely be over by then, or perhaps Matthew would be saved from returning. Whatever did happen though, Mary had just these next few months to get through, of keeping her feelings hidden and making sure Matthew never knew, and then everything would work out alright, it had to.

It was just as Mary was convincing herself of this when there was a knock at her door and, a moment later, Mary's mother appeared.

"May I come in?" She asked, though Mary knew it was not really a question. She did not want to see her mother now, didn't want to deal with whatever she may have to say. Mary's feelings must have been clear on her face, for her mother, coming into the room, said dryly, "Don't look so pleased to see me, Mary."

"What do you want, mama?" Mary asked, her voice petulant and barely containing her sudden annoyance and frustration. The appearance of her mother had rattled rather on Mary's already frayed nerves and she found herself determined to be as stubborn and flippant as she could, hoping to get rid of her. She stood up and went over to her dressing table, where she promptly sat down and picked up a few random objects to fiddle with so she could avoid her mother's eye.

"I just wanted to check you're alright Mary, you did run off rather quickly before," Cora answered. She noticed Mary's sudden irritable mood and knew her daughter too well to want to aggravate it further. She had to tread carefully if she wanted Mary to listen to what she had to say.

"I'll be alright as long as I'm left alone, mama." Mary answered, her voice more annoyed than she'd intended, but she made no move to apologise. Instead, she continued, hoping her mother would get the hint, "I just need some rest, that's all."

"I'm sure you do, Mary. You have been so busy keeping watch over Matthew; I doubt you've slept much recently."

Mary suddenly looked up sharply at her mother's words and her saw her concerned, though somewhat teasing face reflected in her mirror. Mary did not want reminding right now of how she'd acted these last few days, she had regrets enough about that already. Now that her mother had mentioned him though, Mary had a distinct feeling she knew where this conversation was going. Determined to get it over with, and bracing herself for the worst, Mary ignored the pleasantries from her mother and asked, "So then, mama, are you going to tell me what I am to be scolded for, or are we to continue discussing the state of my health?"

Cora sighed at Mary's flippant words as she sat down on Mary's bed. She hated trying to talk to her when she was in this childish temper, but Cora had little choice now. She doubted bringing the conversation up again another time would help and Cora didn't know if it could wait anyway. With another sigh of obvious defeat, she resigned to her daughter's request and answered her directly, "I want you to look after Matthew whilst he's recovering here."

Mary spun around in her chair and looked at her mother in shock. She knew her mother wanted to discuss Matthew, but she had not suspected she would be asking the very same thing her father had, barely half an hour earlier. Unlike her father, however, Mary knew exactly what motives lay behind her mother's request. Matthew may as well have been another guest at dinner that Mary had been asked to sit next to and entertain! Matthew had barely been awake an hour and her mother was already pushing Mary onto him. That he'd just nearly died, had sustained vicious injuries and they hadn't spoken for nearly two years, seemed lost on her mother, or no longer of importance in the face of Mary catching a husband.

Mary knew her mother had never understood what had happened between her and Matthew before the war and why she had resolved to tell him the truth about Pamuk. Mary also knew she'd never fully forgiven her for not accepting Matthew when she'd had the chance. At times like this, Mary also wondered whether her mother, indeed her whole family, blamed her delays for Matthew leaving Downton and enlisting. She knew well enough how often she blamed herself of it; for pushing Matthew away and causing him to go fight in the bloodthirsty war. Since he'd left though, her mother had known better than to mention Matthew to her again and Mary had greatly appreciated her mother's silence. Due to the war, her mother had even paused in her employment of making sure Mary was married off. It seemed though, that all this was about to change. "You don't waste much time, do you mama?"

"Don't look at me like that, Mary, you know that's not what I meant. I'm just concerned for Matthew." Cora found herself replying somewhat defensively as she felt her frustration rise; dealing with her eldest and most difficult daughter yet again was bringing out the worst in her. Cora hadn't failed to notice the look of faint disgust on her daughter's face and it made her feel slightly ashamed. She had been thinking of Mary, but she also knew it would please the rest of the family, and probably even Matthew himself, for Mary to keep him company.

"Yes, I'm sure you are, mama," Mary replied dryly, rolling her eyes before turning back to her dressing table and making a show of picking up and trying on a broach that had caught her eye.

"Matthew will be here for a long time and he will need someone to keep him company."

"And as the eldest daughter, that duty is left to me I suppose," Mary answered resentfully, surprised at how much this conversation was echoing that she'd shared with her father only recently. Unlike her father though, Cora had no intention of playing along with Mary's childish games.

"Considering how you have behaved recently, Mary, I wouldn't think you would see it as a duty."

"I see you find my recent behaviour reprehensible, mama," Mary answered, looking her mother in the eye through their reflections in the mirror. "Am I to be punished thus for my former behaviour?"

"Not at all, my dear," Cora answered, keeping her tone light to try to diffuse some of the tension building up in the room. "On the contrary, we have been most pleased by the concern you have shown your cousin."

"I bet." Mary had been afraid of this, that all the family would think the best of her for showing her regard for Matthew. She hadn't wanted her behaviour to even be noticed, let alone praised! Deciding that continued flippancy and sarcasm would be the best diversion, Mary continued, "I'm surprised you haven't set a date for our wedding already!"

"And do we have a reason to, Mary?" Cora enquired, trying to mask her sudden curiosity. None of them knew quite where things stood between Mary and Matthew, though considering how cold and distant Mary had been this morning, Cora had a feeling things were far from cordial.

"Matthew's just awakened from the brink of death, mama. I hardly think it's top of his priorities to propose to me again." Though her words were dismissive, Mary was surprised by how deeply they cut. They reminded her yet again of everything she had stupidly lost and everything she could no longer allow herself to want.

Cora hadn't failed to notice the somewhat hurt tone in her daughter's voice. She wondered if treading more delicately might be the best way forward; or perhaps a blunt approach, though more likely to rattle Mary, might at least betray some truth from her. Deciding on a combination of the two, Cora gently asked, keeping her voice as soothing as she could manage, "Would you like it to be, Mary?"

The directness of her mother's question made Mary jump up suddenly and she began pacing the room. She couldn't deal with the answer straight away, didn't even know if she ever would. After a brief moment, she replied flippantly, the words spilling off her tongue like bullets from a gun. "Well, we all know it doesn't really matter what I want, don't we mama."

"Don't be like that, Mary," her mother cautioned, her voice stricter than she intended.

Mary just gave her a reproving look and continued, "Besides, last time he asked, everyone was so disappointed in my behaviour, I'm surprised anyone would want a repeat of it!"

"We all assume you won't make the same mistake again, Mary," Cora remarked quickly, though immediately regretted voicing her disappointment. Now was not the time to talk about past troubles and quarrels. Quickly retracting, she continued, trying hard to keep her voice gentle, "We want you to be happy, Mary, and your behaviour towards Matthew indicates that you would indeed be very happy marrying him."

"So I _am_ being punished for my behaviour then, with everyone coming to these assumptions about my _feelings_ and what I want!" Mary's growing contempt was clear in her voice as she continued, "I'm sorry to be a disappointment to you mama. I'm afraid you never asked the governess to teach us the correct etiquette for how to behave when a distant relative of our fathers, who is to inherit all our fortune, suddenly shows up half dead!"

"Do I look like a fool, Mary," Cora found herself suddenly snapping, her tone and countenance suddenly so fierce that Mary abruptly spun around and looked anxiously at her mother. Realising she had been a bit too harsh, Cora shut her eyes for a moment, trying to bite back her rising frustration at her stubborn daughter and her current childish attitude. Eventually Cora said, catching her daughter's eye and giving her a very reproachful look, "Do not think I have forgotten your confession of love for Matthew, two years ago. Or am I to assume you no longer feel the same?"

Mary quickly looked away from her mother's condemning look and harsh, chastising words. They were a stark reminder of the past and it hurt Mary to remember those words she'd spoken to her mother, when she'd first realised and confessed her love for the upstart heir. So much had changed since then, so much had happened between them. It still surprised her how fresh the pain felt whenever memories of her behaviour towards Matthew resurfaced and how her new pain, of knowing nothing could ever be happen between them, still seared through her heart. With determination enough to push all that hurt away, Mary reminded herself more than her mother by saying, "It doesn't matter anyway, mama, he's hardly likely to make me another offer."

"Why is that, my dear?"

Mary realised then that she'd said too much. She was in no mood to have the heart to heart chat her mother so desired, especially when she was being questioned about things Mary herself didn't dare consider. Trying to be as vague as possible, Mary said, continuing her pacing, "I doubt after I delayed so before, Matthew will be in a hurry to renew his addresses towards me. I know you will never forgive me for how I acted, but I certainly cannot change it now." As much as she wished to, Mary added silently, but she knew well enough to change things would mean going back to the moment she'd first laid eyes on Mr Pamuk.

"All the more reason to spend time with Matthew now, Mary," her mother answered, determined to stick to the point and not let Mary wallow in her own sadness and distress at the past. That would do no one any good now and Cora didn't like to admit her own neglect in not talking to Mary more about what had happened all that time ago.

Mary glared at her mother, her suggestion reminding Mary of her recent request and the motives behind it. Mary hated the idea that she would only spend time with Matthew to try to win back his favour and catch herself a husband. Not only did it go against her earlier promise to herself, a promise she had no intention of making her mother privy too, but it felt so cold and calculating, as if she were somehow lying to him. "It won't do any good mama, Matthew won't make me another offer of marriage. Even if he did, it wouldn't change anything." Mary stopped pacing and looked defiantly at her mother. "He still does not know about Pamuk."

Cora blinked at Mary in surprise. That man's name hadn't been mentioned between them in years and hearing it again brought back terrible memories of that fateful night and her own role in the proceedings. She had been determined to forget about it, even if she might not quite be able to forgive yet, but she'd hoped Mary had put him firmly out of her mind. "You're not still determined to tell Matthew about that? Are you?" Cora asked, quite incredulously, "It happened over 3 years ago!"

"Oh and that makes it alright, does it?"

"Mary, you know that I will never think it's alright, but…" Cora paused as she fixed Mary with a fierce gaze, "I see no reason why you should disturb Matthew's recovery and tell him."

"No mama, I know full well you see no point in Matthew knowing the truth!" Mary did not want to argue this again with her mother, she obviously could never understand how important it was to her that Matthew knew her sordid past, that she didn't catch him with a lie that would haunt them forever. It didn't matter now anyway, Mary told herself harshly, Matthew would never need to know because he'd never renew his attentions towards her. She would, she _had_ to, make sure of that.

"Don't worry mama," Mary continued, her determination growing, "I'll do what you asked and keep Matthew company while he recovers. But make no mistake, I have absolutely no intentions of encouraging him or trying to _catch_ myself a husband in the process!"

Cora started to reply then, but Mary turned away from her and began walking out of the room. She couldn't stand to listen to her mother's attempts to excuse her reasoning anymore. When her father had asked her, Mary had been almost too enthusiastic to accept. Now, the same request from her mother left her bitter and frustrated. Perhaps the difference was that her father's motives had seemed relatively innocent, thinking mainly, if not purely, about Matthew's happiness. Her mother's motives, Mary knew full well, were not.

At the door she paused and turned back towards her mother. "I'm sorry mama, but you have made me quite determined. I find I can only do the opposite of what you ask and not give Matthew any encouragement at all. I know you will blame my stubbornness, but I assure you this time, perhaps for the first time, my reasons could not be further from it."

As she walked out of the room and shut the door behind her, her mother's words continued running through her mind. The notion that Mary would only see Matthew, would only spend time with him and help him through his recovery, just to secure him for a husband, sickened her. The idea that her family, maybe even Matthew himself, could think her capable of _that_ disturbed her all the more. This, together with her earlier promises to appear indifferent to him, only strengthened her resolve and determination. She'd make high sure that Matthew never had any reason to believe her motives were anything more than friendship and that he would never feel encouraged to renew his addresses towards her. Not that he would, Mary told herself adamantly, but just in case she'd keep her distance. It was the best for him, for her and she had the added advantage of now proving her family wrong.

She would do what her parents asked of her, she was quite glad of the excuse too, but it would be on her own terms. If they were going to push her onto Matthew, hoping for the event that would solve everyone's problems, Mary's stubborn pride dictated she fight against it to ensure the event never happened. With that in mind, and a renewed sense of determination and courage which her mother had unwittingly distilled in her, she decided she may as well get seeing Matthew again over with. At least that's what Mary told herself she was doing as she turned and headed towards his room, the fact that she longed to see him again and missed him already had absolutely nothing to do with it.


	14. Chapter 14

Mary's annoyance and frustration at her mother's words were quickening her footsteps and, before she realised, Mary found herself standing outside Matthew's room. She was so used to just entering that she pushed open the door without thinking. The scene that confronted her soon showed her the mistake and Mary silently berated herself for just barging in. Matthew was awake now; she would have to remember she was not able to take the same liberties as before.

The first thing that Mary noticed when she entered was the silence; the conversation suddenly stopping dead at her appearance. If that wasn't enough to make Mary feel uncomfortable, perhaps even unwelcome, then their surprised, shocked looks would have done the trick. Cousin Isobel sat on one side of Matthew, Sybil on the other, and both were holding his hands. It was obvious that Mary had interrupted their conversation and she was unsure for a moment what to do, feeling somewhat awkward and guilty for having charged in. There were no other chairs for Mary sit down upon, and she was certainly not going to sit on Matthew's bed, so she was left lingering in the doorway, feeling more than a little self-conscious. Suddenly, the task her parents had set her seemed quite daunting and frightening and at this moment Mary clearly saw her services were far from required, especially with Sybil here.

After a few moments though, Mary felt herself start to get annoyed at her weakness and the determination and frustration that had driven her here started to rise again. She had every right to be here and she quickly pushed her misgivings and doubts away. She gave those in the room her warmest, brightest smile and with her voice sounding perhaps a tad too cheerful, she gushed, "Hello, I do hope I'm not interrupting anything." It wasn't perhaps the best thing to say, but she struggled to think of anything more appropriate. At least she managed to make her countenance appear unconcerned though, strong and somewhat defiant in the face of their surprise.

All of this ran through Mary's mind in the space of a few moments and it didn't occur to her that is was merely astonishment at Mary's sudden appearance that had quietened them, or at least Isobel and Sybil. Matthew's face was too distance and cold to read, though it also showed surprise, perhaps the most surprise of all.

Isobel was quite concerned at how awkward Mary had looked upon entering the room and quickly tried to remedy the situation. She realised she shouldn't be too bewildered at Mary's coolness though, as she'd seen clearly enough earlier Mary's change in behaviour since Matthew had awakened. Isobel was unable to fathom what had made Mary draw back so today, but it left her quite worried for her and Matthew's future. Mary's sudden appearance now cheered her and, with as much warmth as she felt, she gave Mary a welcoming smile. "Mary! How lovely to see you again so soon, we have just been filling Matthew in on what's been happening at Downton."

Her cousin's smile immediately made Mary feel more comfortable and she stepped further into the room. "I'm surprised to see Matthew still awake then! The mundane things that happen at Downton must seem very boring to him now." She said the words gently, with nothing more than light teasing in her voice, and so was somewhat startled by Matthew's sudden reaction.

"I _am_ interested to know what's been going on with you all, Mary." His voice was so cold, so reprimanding, saying her name so reproachfully, that they all quickly looked at him in shock. Matthew seemed only to pay attention to Mary and he fixed her with an intense, icy glare, his eyes hardening into a challenge.

Other than a fleeting glance in his direction, it was the first time Mary had let herself look at him since she'd come into the room. She'd certainly felt his own reproving, penetrating gaze on her almost from the moment she'd walked in and she had been quite desperate in trying to avoid meeting it. Now that she did though, Mary felt her heart skip a beat and herself quite unable to look away. He held her gaze, his eyes narrow and defiant, burning with a cold severity that seemed to sear through her soul. Mary was distantly aware of how much better he now looked, how much more alert and coherent than when he'd first awakened. He was obviously much more aware of his opinion of her and for a moment, just a moment, Mary found herself looking into his eyes. She met his challenging gaze with her own and tried to see beneath the coldness, tried to work him out, just as he was doing with her.

Seemingly unaware of the sudden tension that had sprung up between Mary and Matthew, or perhaps because of it, Sybil said pleasantly, innocently, "There's plenty enough to tell you, Matthew, to be sure. For now we have the hospital at Downton and that has certainly made things quite eventful."

Mary was exceedingly graceful for her sister's intervention then, her words cutting through the confusion and overwhelming emotion Mary felt looking into Matthew's eyes. It freed Mary's tongue and she found herself answering Matthew's silent challenge. "I'm surprised there is so much to tell you, Matthew, considering you have been communicating with Cousin Isobel and my father." But not with me, Mary added silently, feeling a sudden pang of hurt that none of her letters to him had been answered. She raised her chin and looked him boldly, frostily, in the eye, throwing the gauntlet back at him.

Matthew suddenly averted his eyes then, perhaps in guilt? For a faint glimmer of something seemed to cross his face. A moment later, his eyes met hers again, the intensity in them now gone and they were nothing but distant, cold and faintly challenging.

Still appearing oblivious to the friction between Mary and Matthew, Sybil again spoke up, though her voice was perhaps just a tad desperate. "Well, I doubt father would have told Matthew all about the adventures in the downstairs hospital and my nursing."

"No," Matthew answered, giving Mary one last long, bitter look before turning to her sister with rather a bright smile. "Your father has told me little about your nursing, Sybil." The contrast in Matthew's behaviour between the two sisters was certainly not lost on Mary and, though she wasn't sure if it was intentional, it cut her deeply. She quickly reminded herself that it was for the best, both for herself and for Matthew.

This was all the opening Sybil needed to start chattering away to Matthew about the hospital and her nursing and Mary was very glad of the distraction it allowed her. She appreciated being able to keep her distance and to stand apart from the proceedings, it suited her troubled, confused mood perfectly. Matthew's attention seemed very much focused on Sybil and Mary found herself able to watch him somewhat unobserved. She'd been so used to looking at his unconscious face, it was quite strange to look upon his animated features now; at the smile in his eyes as he listened to Sybil's over-enthusiastic news and the way his lips moved as he asked her a few prompting questions, though very little were needed to keep Sybil talking. It also gave Mary time to practice her cold, detached pretence, which she found she was very much in need of now that she was once more in Matthew's presence. Whether Matthew noticed her observing him, Mary wasn't sure, but occasionally he would catch her eye, his gaze challenging, distant, yet gently probing, and Mary found herself looking away almost immediately, automatically fiddling with her pendant.

How long Sybil chattered for, Mary did not know, but after a while she found herself starting to get rather annoyed and more than a tad tired of standing up watching them. She hadn't rested properly herself since Matthew had come and she'd barely eaten a thing. She was also growing increasingly aware that she still remained rather an intruder to their party and was thinking it may be best to leave for now, as Sybil looked set to continue talking about her nursing all day!

Isobel had only half listened to the constant chatter, speaking only when she was required too and instead paying attention to her son and the lady that stood near the door. She was all too aware of the tension that still hung between them and Isobel knew the longer the hostility was allowed to fester, the worst it would be for them both. She was also very conscious of the more practical problem that there was no where for Mary to sit and she was anxious that Mary did not leave on this account. All the talk about nursing, hospitals and wounded soldiers also served as too much of a reminder of Matthew's state and Isobel was anxious he not be troubled too much by the memories of what had befallen him. She decided it would be better to interrupt Sybil's incessant talking and hopefully leave them in some peace.

"Sybil dear," Isobel asked, giving Sybil a bright smile as she interrupted her just as she was taking a breath. "Would you be so kind as to see if they need any help in the hospital?"

"Of course," Sybil nodded at the request, smiling and seemingly unaware that her conversation had grown tiresome and she was being deliberately excused. "I am sure there is plenty enough for me to do!" She gave Matthew a small, friendly smile and stood up, ready to leave.

"Thank you, Sybil," Isobel replied.

Sybil then nodded goodbye at them in turn, before walking out the room. They all watched the door close behind her and an awkward, empty silence filled the air, more apparent following the recent noise of Sybil's chatter.

Mary wasn't sure whether to fill the vacant chair or not, so she'd stayed lingering near the doorway for a few moments, wondering what to say. It was obvious that Cousin Isobel had made an excuse for Sybil to leave and Mary felt guilty for pushing her out. Still, Mary did not really want to leave herself and, when Isobel gestured for Mary to sit, she did so all too eagerly, grateful for the chance to rest. It felt strange to be sitting by Matthew's bedside again, now that he was awake, and she quickly tried to cover her unease by speaking. "Sybil is such a darling, she really does enjoy being useful with her work in the hospital." Mary meant the words lightly, as a conversation starter, and was quite surprised when she noticed the look of reprobation that suddenly appeared on Matthew's face, as if he'd found her words insulting. It seemed everything she said offended him today!

"She has been a great help in the hospital and she is becoming a very fine nurse. I'm not sure what we'd do without her." Isobel praised, trying to keep the conversation going as the tension began to grow again in the room. She looked between her son and Mary and let out a silent sigh. Things were so cold between them and Isobel didn't know why, or how they could be put right. She decided she must find a chance to talk to Matthew about Mary – the sooner, the better. Judging by Mary's current behaviour though, she doubted whether her son would believe her.

"It's nice that Sybil is putting her time to good use," Matthew answered in reply to his mother, his voice full of praise and admiration, though his eyes were still looking at Mary reproachfully.

Mary found herself increasingly annoyed at all this praise about her youngest sister, which was strange because Mary was usually only too pleased to hear her sister's name being spoken of so highly. She was determined to change the subject and said, "Well, her flurry into nursing has certainly raised a few eyebrows, but then, quite a lot has changed since you left, Matthew."

"Yes, it appears a great many things have changed." Matthew's words sounded bitter and Mary wondered if there was some deeper meaning within them. She couldn't fail to notice the coldness that crept into his gaze as his expression hardened and he looked fixedly into the distance.

As the distance grew between Mary and Matthew once more, Isobel found herself quite perplexed as to what she should do for the best. She knew Mary and Matthew needed to talk, needed to get everything out in the open and admit what they felt for each other. Whilst she doubted the stubborn pride of them both would result in the latter happening any time soon, she could at least hope for the former and wondered how best to initiate proper conversation between them. She was torn between staying and trying to maintain some form of chatter or leaving them on their own to sort out themselves. Considering how chilly and sour things seemed between them, Isobel decided leaving them to their own devices at this particular moment in time probably wasn't the best of ideas. She decided to try and lighten the atmosphere and said, with perhaps a tad too much enthusiasm, "I think it is wonderful how kind your father has been in welcoming the hospital, and the household staff have certainly done their best to help." She smiled a little too warmly at Mary and noticed the young ladies wondering, somewhat distracted expression. Trying to bring her into the conversation, she asked, "Don't you agree, Mary?"

Mary suddenly snapped her head to attention and forced a smile at Cousin Isobel. Her thoughts had been somewhat preoccupied by Matthew and trying to work out what he saw whenever he'd looked so intently at her. Knowing these sorts of thoughts were far from safe, and realising she was not giving her cousin the attention she deserved, Mary answered, doing her best to sound calm and measured. "Yes of course. They have been working very hard to keep both the hospital and the house running so well, especially as we have lost so many male servants to fight in the war..."

At the mention of war, Mary's voice trailed off and a melancholy atmosphere descended. They were suddenly all too much aware that there was a bitter and bloodthirsty war raging somewhere, just across the sea. A war that, whilst seemingly so far away, affected them all, Matthew was living proof of that.

Determined to not let an unbearable silence take hold again, Isobel continued, "I'm not sure the hospital would run anywhere near so well if not for the extra, hard work put in by the household staff and your sister. Indeed, it is terribly understaffed, but then there are so few workers and so many are needed elsewhere." She paused for a moment and looked between Mary and Matthew; they were both avoiding looking at each other and seemed to be focused on her, so she continued. "Dr Clarkson does what he can of course, but he has the village hospital to run as well. I know he was very disappointed when he was called back from his position of Captain in the war to work in the hospital. They needed an extra doctor you see, so many men were starting to be brought in and they were quite unable to cope. You remember don't you, Mary?"

When Mary gave her nothing but a polite nod, Isobel tried again, "I think I may have told you in my letters perhaps, Matthew?" When she only received a faint nod from her son also, she had no choice but to continue on her own. "Of course now we have this extra hospital here and, between the two, there are too many patients and not enough staff to attend them, so it really is so very kind of your father, Mary, to let the household staff also work in the hospital." Isobel was well aware that she was babbling now and with almost as much enthusiasm as Sybil had earlier. She paused, wondering how best to continue and decided at the moment that trying to get two equally stubborn people like her son and Lady Mary to talk to each other was nothing but a losing battle. Perhaps if they were left alone, they would be forced to make conversation, which would be a start at least.

She had also noticed with concern the growing fatigue that had started to fill her son's face, though he seemed to do his best to hide it. Whilst he still politely listened to her, his posture started to sag back into the pillows and his expression became increasingly wearisome. He had been awake too long, far longer than was good for him at the moment, and all this constant chatter would only make him more so. Perhaps even if Matthew and Mary were unable to talk just yet, it would at least allow her son some time to sleep.

"Well, all this talk about hospitals has reminded me how lax I have been in my duties there lately." She gave Matthew a warm smile and squeezed his hand gently, though she was unable to hide the growing concern from her voice as she continued, "And you Matthew, need to rest!" She suddenly noticed Mary start to move and she suddenly fretted that she would leave too. Thinking quickly, she asked Mary, "Would you be so kind as to stay with Matthew until I return? I would feel so much better knowing he was not on his own?" She ignored her sons sudden reproaching, almost panicked look and gave Mary a kind, somewhat pleading smile.

"Of course," Mary answered, far too eagerly, but as she saw the bright smile of comfort on Cousin Isobel's face and felt the exasperated look of Matthew fall on her now, she found she did not care.

"You really don't have to, Mary," Matthew said, his voice sounding rather resigned, though somewhat exasperated and annoyed at all the fussing.

Looking firstly at Isobel and then turning her eyes towards Matthew, Mary couldn't help but let a mischievous, teasing twinkle shine in her eyes. She was more than happy for the excuse Cousin Isobel had kindly given her, quite deliberately Mary was sure, and she found herself rather enjoying Matthew's discomfort at all the attention. She was unable to help herself as she answered, teasingly, "But of course I do. Your mother will worry otherwise and heaven knows what fate may befall a poor soldier if she is distracted."

"Thank you, Mary," Isobel said as she nodded at her cousin and walked towards the door. As she left, she turned around and looked at Matthew, her expression commanding, but also filled with motherly concern and a hint of anxiety. "Make sure you get some rest now, Matthew," she chided.

"Yes mother," Matthew replied dryly, his expression showing he was not at all impressed with his mother's words. Mary couldn't help but share a small smile with Cousin Isobel as she left the room, each thinking Matthew's exasperation quite amusing. When Mary turned back towards Matthew, she noticed the hidden smile playing on his own lips and dancing in his eyes, belying the annoyance he was trying to show at their meddling.

As their eyes met though, the atmosphere around them suddenly shifted, their smiles suddenly froze and their expressions became instantly charged. Mary's heart stopped beating for a moment, before starting again, pounding so loudly she wondered if Matthew could hear. Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly lost all ability to think. His eyes were suddenly so intense, so piercing and it shook Mary to the core. The shock of his gaze suddenly scared her and she quickly looked away, unable to breathe for a moment. She could feel his eyes still upon her and they seemed to burn right through her, straight to her heart, trying to read the secrets she kept hidden there. The silence between them suddenly became unbearable and without Cousin Isobel here, she knew one of them would have to break it with small talk. Mary forced herself to think, to come up with something to say. She would have to get used to speaking to Matthew again, sooner or later, especially if she was to keep him company whilst he recovered. "I think you should do as your mother asks, Matthew, and get some sleep."

Mary made herself turn back towards Matthew, keeping her own eyes cool and distant as she gave him a polite smile, trying to ignore the burning intensity of his gaze. As her own, cold eyes held Matthew's, she watched his grow distant too, hard and bitter.

The silence filled the room for a few moments, before Matthew finally spoke, "I feel as if I've been sleeping forever!" Matthew sighed, his voice and expression wearisome, resigned and somewhat melancholy.

"You've been through an awful lot, Matthew, you need to allow yourself time to heal." Mary's voice was surprisingly concerned and, worrying she was giving away too much, she continued, a tad humorously, "We really have been most worried about you, Matthew. All of us."

"All of you?" Matthew asked, the meaning in his words and the flicker of emotion that crossed his eyes not going unnoticed by Mary.

"Yes, of course, Matthew, the whole family." Especially me, she added silently, giving Matthew a friendly but relatively cool smile, keeping her eyes distance in her determination to not reveal any more to Matthew. She had revealed too much to him already.

"Did you…" Matthew began, but then he stopped, swallowing somewhat nervously. He looked away, into the distance, appearing awkward, confused, his eyes distant.

"Yes?" Mary probed, giving him an encouraging smile to continue. She was eager to hear what he had to say, though she knew she probably shouldn't be, that any prying was not a good idea.

"Did you really stay with me, all that time?" His voice was quiet, shy and his eyes refused to meet hers.

Mary's only external indication of surprise at the question was to blink, though within she suddenly panicked. She'd been dreading this question, dreading Matthew finding out just how she had behaved when he'd been unconscious. She thought about her answer carefully, she couldn't lie, not to him, and yet she couldn't risk giving him any encouragement whatsoever. Making sure her voice didn't betray her underlying anxiety, she said light heartedly, "Well, someone had to keep your mother company."

When Matthew's questioning eyes suddenly looked up to meet hers, Mary found her voice catching slightly, but she forced herself to continue, as carefree as she could manage. "Besides, we had to make sure nothing happened to the heir didn't we." She kept a friendly smile on her face, eager for Matthew to realise she was teasing, and was relieved when a playful smile played at his lips.

"Perhaps the next heir may have proven far more capable and worthy of the task than I." His voice was light, teasing, but Mary thought she noticed a hint of apprehension lying beneath.

"Well, whilst I doubt that would be too difficult," she paused, flashing him a mischievous smile, "I don't think we want to take the chance."

She was rewarded by a warm smile from Matthew and just for a moment she caught his eye again. Yet this time it was different, their faces were smiling, their eyes warm and friendly and the atmosphere now clear and carefree. It made Mary remember far too clearly just how well her and Matthew used to get along; before the war, before he'd proposed and before she had ruined everything between them. A sudden yawn spread across his face, breaking the moment, and Mary felt her concern for him grow. She urged him once more to rest, "Please Matthew, I think you need to sleep, we can't have you incoherent tomorrow." She gave him her best, friendly, if somewhat forced, platonic smile and was pleased when he returned it.

"I suppose you are right," Matthew admitted, but then he looked rather awkward. He tried to move, but the pain that ran across his face was clearly excruciating. Mary suddenly realised what the problem was and leant forwards, standing up slightly out of her seat. Without thinking - and if she had, she probably wouldn't have had the nerve - Mary reached out and gently placed her hands on his shoulders and chest. The sudden contact and the electricity that flowed between them made Mary look up. She realised her mistake in an instant, as it brought her face far too close to Matthew's. He'd looked up at the same moment, the surprise from her touch clear on his face. As their eyes locked and the shock faded from their faces, the temperature in the room suddenly soared and Mary was quite unable to breathe. She was far too aware of just how close his lips were to hers and she found herself remembering all too vividly when Matthew had last been this close to her, of how he'd kissed her so passionately, so long ago. The same flicker of remembrance seemed to cross Matthew's face and Mary felt his eyes suddenly glance to her lips, before looking back into her eyes, searching; his piercing blue eyes so intense she felt as if she were drowning in them. Mary knew she only had to tilt her head slightly, lower her face a fraction, and their lips would touch. She wanted to, oh how much she wanted to, but she found herself frozen in place, the feel of his breath teasing her lips sending shivers down her spine.

It was all too strong, too powerful, and it scared Mary completely. As a tremor of fear ran through her, a thread of rational thought managed to take hold, a shred of self preservation slipping in. She couldn't; it wasn't right, it wasn't fair and she could not do this to Matthew, she couldn't lead him on. Gulping slowly, she managed to tear her gaze away from his. She stood up straighter, trying to gain some distance from him, and she found herself almost stammering, "Are you alright? I hope I haven't hurt you." Then, as quickly as she could manage, she continued her original task and helped Matthew lie down, before she practically jumped away from him and landed rather ungracefully in her seat. With Matthew lying down now, and her sitting as far back in her chair as she could manage, it was easier to avoid looking at his face and Mary found herself beginning to bring her breathing under control.

"No, I'm fine," Matthew replied, his voice deep, husky, and it sent electricity simmering through her veins. He coughed and then said, his voice now sounding more normal, "Thank you, Mary."

She gave him a weak smile, but she wasn't sure if he could see. She wanted to move closer and lean over to see him better, but she didn't dare. The memory of his breath on her face and his lips so close to hers was a vivid reminder that she was letting herself get too close, letting her façade slip far too easily. She had to be stronger, she had to try harder to keep her distant and keep her feelings locked away from him.

"Now, Matthew, I think you should get some sleep. I don't want cousin Isobel to come back and find you still awake." She forced the words out lightly, humorously and they helped chase away some of the thickness in the atmosphere.

"Yes, Mary," Matthew replied, his voice somewhat playful and a soothing relief to Mary's ears. The awkwardness and heavy emotion, whilst still there between them, seemed to fade slightly, dispelled somewhat by the lighter tones they were trying so hard to maintain. Mary let herself relax for a moment. Whatever Matthew may think of her recent actions, at least he seemed to not be pushing her now. She risked a quick glance at his face and saw that his eyes were closed. She doubted he was asleep just yet, but he was obviously trying and Mary was glad of the excuse to stay silent.

She let her own eyes close for a moment, trying to calm the pounding of her heart and the tempest of emotions and thoughts that ricocheted around her mind. As she took a few, deep breaths, she felt calmness begin to return and her thoughts begin to make sense once more. It was a slip up, albeit a major one, but there it was, she couldn't change it now. She would just have to make sure she never let it happen again. It was bound to take some time to get used to him, to seeing him, feeling him so close and being able to speak and listen to him. Now that she'd got this first meeting out of the way, everything would be fine. Mary forced herself to believe it, echoing the words around in her mind, trying to drown out the questions her heart kept on asking; questions Mary knew she couldn't answer. He's been through a lot, she told her heart ruthlessly, he's tired and confused and weak. She reminded her heart of the coldness she'd seen in his eyes, the reproachful tone she'd heard in his voice and the bitter hardness of his challenging expression. The brutal thoughts helped silence her questioning heart, but Mary knew full well it didn't quite believe them.

She opened her eyes and risked a glance at Matthew. His eyes were still closed and his chest was rising and falling rhythmically and Mary knew he was now asleep. She gave herself the liberty of watching him then, leaning forwards so she was closer to him, though she didn't dare reach out and caress his serene face or hold his hand. He stayed asleep for a long time, clearly exhausted from all the attention he had received since he'd awoken earlier. He didn't stir when Carson came in with a lunch tray for Mary, or when Cousin Isobel returned that afternoon. He didn't even stir when all her family invaded the room later in the afternoon, eager to see how the patient was doing.

As the sunlight faded from the sky, and food was brought in for them all, Cousin Isobel urged him gently awake, concerned that he hadn't eaten for a long time. She had to help him sit up and eat, for his arms were too injured and painful for him to manage himself. Mary politely excused herself then, not wanting to embarrass Matthew by seeing him so dependent on his mother for something so basic. She couldn't bring herself to visit her family though and instead took solace in her room, asking for Anna to help her change the clothes she'd now been wearing for over a day. She didn't like to question her motives in picking out her best outfit, or for asking Anna to spend a little longer on her hair. Whatever her motives had been, it was to no avail anyway, for Matthew was asleep again when Mary joined them, Isobel sitting by his side and giving Mary a warm smile on her return.

Now that Matthew was asleep once more, Mary felt much more at ease and calmer in his company, something which Isobel hadn't failed to notice. When Matthew had briefly awoken that evening, she'd debated telling him about Mary, but decided against it for now, not sure how well he'd take the news considering how things seemed to stand between them. Now that Isobel saw Mary again, saw the real Mary who wasn't hiding, the Mary who had sat by her son's bedside in concern for the last two days, she became determined to say something to him. She wondered if Mary was perhaps just shy, embarrassed by the concern she had shown Matthew. Isobel hoped that if Matthew knew this himself, he might give Mary the encouragement she needed. With this cheerful thought in mind, Isobel felt her eyes begin to close and she fell into a peaceful sleep, perfectly content that her son was well on the way to recovery, both of his injuries and, hopefully, of his heart.

If Mary knew what happy thoughts Isobel drifted into slumber with, she may have felt obliged to say something. She really wished things between her and Matthew were as easy as just shyness and embarrassment, but they couldn't be further from it. If Matthew did indeed give her any encouragement, Mary knew full well she must push him away, keep him at a distance and probably break his heart all the more. Still, it would be nothing from the pain she would cause him if he knew the truth about her. Of course, Mary reminded herself, that was exactly why she must ensure Matthew had no inclination of encouraging her. He clearly didn't care for her any more anyway, the regard he once had seemingly turned to bitterness, and she had to make high sure it remained that way.

She sighed sadly as she convinced herself once more of all the reasons she must stay away from him. It would be hard, harder than she had realised as today had proved, but she would manage it. She had to. With another sigh Mary felt sleep start to overcome her, invading her thoughts and quite preventing her from thinking as clearly as she should. She was distantly aware that she was leaning forwards towards Matthew, but she was too tired to care any more and she let herself give in. Moving closer, she let herself rest her head on Matthew's chest once more, the sound of his deep breathing and the warmth from his body lulling her into sleep.

As Mary slept, she didn't notice the door open slightly and her mother and father peer in. They were coming to usher Mary, and hopefully Isobel, to their own beds, so they could sleep properly themselves. When they saw the three figures asleep, Isobel's head lolling as she slumped in her chair and Mary sat resting hers on Matthew's chest, they didn't have the heart to disturb them. Instead they exchanged wordless looks at their daughter's pillow choice and decided to leave them be. As they walked back along the corridor though, Cora couldn't help feeling a bit anxious. "Will it be alright, letting Mary stay in Matthew's room overnight, now he's conscious?" Cora, far more so than her husband, and with good reason, was often worrying about impropriety and her daughter's reputation.

Robert smiled at his wife's concern, feeling rather happy as he remembered with pleasure his daughter's current behaviour towards Matthew. "I'm sure we need not worry about Mary's reputation at the moment, dear. Cousin Isobel is there and besides," he gave his wife an encouraging smile, "Matthew is far too injured for anything to happen."

Cora quickly gave him a reproachful look, but Robert could see the humour now hiding within her expression. They continued to their room in silence, both consumed with their own plans for their daughter and cousin. It was only as Robert got into bed beside his wife that he spoke again, saying pleasantly, "Well Cora, I think we will all be sleeping much better tonight."

"Yes dear," Cora answered as she took his hand and smiled warmly at him. "It is such a relief to finally see Matthew awake."

"Especially for Isobel," Robert added, "she did look so much brighter today." He smiled as he remembered that she'd returned to her work in the hospital, something she took great satisfaction in, but had understandably been unable to do since Matthew had arrived.

"I am worried about Matthew though," Cora murmured, "I don't like the thought of him being stuck in that room, cooped up for so long."

"No, neither do I," Robert added, worriedly "I asked Mary to keep him company, so perhaps he won't find his confinement too trying."

Cora's eyes widened and she looked at her husband in surprise. "You asked Mary to look after Matthew?"

"Yes, my dear, I thought it may do them both some good."

"When was this?" Cora asked innocently, anxious not to alert her husband to the real reason she was enquiring.

"Just before Mary joined us for breakfast."

Cora nodded, hardly believing that her husband had asked Mary the very same request as herself, and before her! Cora was surprised that her eldest daughter had not shared this knowledge with her, though considering Mary's defensive and sulky behaviour this morning, she realised she shouldn't be.

"And how did Mary take your request, dear?"

"Oh, you know Mary, she never likes being asked to do anything! She seemed content enough to accept in the end though."

Cora was even more surprised by this, though yet again she knew she shouldn't be. Mary had put up such a fight when Cora had asked her and she found it somewhat insulting that she'd acquiesced to her father far more readily than her mother. Cora had been quite hurt at Mary's assumptions that she was only trying to secure Mary a husband. Was it so wrong for a mother to want her eldest daughter reconciled with the man she clearly loved? She let out a loud sigh as she released her growing exasperation at Mary, who even after 24 years, she still didn't fully understand.

Robert heard her frustrated sigh and looked at her in concern, "What is it Cora?" He wondered if perhaps Mary had told her mother more about what had happened between her and Matthew.

Cora noticed her husband's sudden, questioning look and smiled at him pleasantly, squeezing his hand in reassurance. There was no point in telling Robert that she'd also asked the same request of Mary and, she had to admit, she was a bit worried her husband may jump to similar conclusions as their daughter. Instead she voiced what else was on her mind. "I'm just worried about Mary; her behaviour today really has been most odd."

Robert sighed in agreement, though he tried to be more optimistic as he spoke. "I'm sure she just needs more time to get used to it all. Mary never was one for showing what she feels."

"Yes, I suppose," Cora mused, "it can't have been easy for either of them, meeting again in such circumstances. Still, if Mary doesn't change her behaviour soon, poor Matthew won't know what to think!"

Robert nodded in agreement, he'd been worried about that himself. He was determined to remain cheerful though, if only to help settle his wife's fears. "As Matthew is bound to be here for some time, I'm sure they'll have plenty of chances to work things out." He gave his wife a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand gently in comfort. "Considering how things were earlier, perhaps that may be sooner than we think."

Cora appreciated her husbands encouraging words, though they did little to placate her own worries. "I hope you are right, Robert, for all our sakes."

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_Thanks so much for still reading, much appreciated! I do hope you're still enjoying it. Apologies for yet another epic length chapter! Reviews and constructive criticism always welcome!_


	15. Chapter 15

It had been several days since Mr Crawley had arrived and, now that he'd awakened only yesterday, things for the great family, the servants and the hospital staff were finally returning to normal. Well, as normal as events at a great house with a war hospital could ever be.

In the servants hall though, a melancholy atmosphere still pervaded, which grew darker and more prevalent at two specific times each day. When the post arrived, and the servants sat down for breakfast, and in the evening, when the day's chores were almost complete and time for some relaxation allowed worries to invade. It was at moments such as these that they were reminded of the still unknown fate of one of their own. Though Daisy's almost continuous melancholy and distracted behaviour were evidence and reminders enough, when they were all together, fears and worries began to plague them all.

It was at a time like this that Anna found herself in this morning at breakfast. As Mr Carson had walked in with the morning's post, they'd all automatically held their breaths and watched him, anxious for some news of their friend William. Mr Carson's expression usually told them the state of things well enough and this morning was no difference.

Daisy got up despondently from her chair and began hauling the servants breakfast things away, stacking them in a pile on the table, her movements so clumsy and distracted that the chinking of china rattled on everyone's nerves. No one had the heart to tell her to be quieter though.

"There is a letter for you, Anna," Mr Carson said, handing an envelope to her. Despite her disappointment that there was still no letter for Daisy, Anna smiled when she recognised the formal, beautifully written script on her own. There was only one person who wrote to Anna with such an exquisite hand and that was Gwen. She grabbed her knife and quickly ripped the letter open, hurriedly taking in the words so she knew what was happening with her dear friend. Not long after the war had broken out, Gwen's job had taken her to London and then, several months later, she found herself working for the war office. Gwen's new letter spoke of her recent promotion and though the work was highly classified, Gwen was able to say how much she was enjoying her new duties and responsibilities. Anna smiled to herself, pleased that even in the dark times of war, good things could still happen to good people like Gwen. She had come far from the young housemaid she once was, who had hidden a typewriter in her room and had taken secret secretarial courses. Tucking the letter inside her apron, Anna quickly finished off her breakfast. She knew Lady Sybil would be most interested in reading the letter.

As Anna put her spoon down on the bowl, just in time for Daisy to grab it, she suddenly noticed O'Brien's face. She was reading her own letter and her mouth was gradually dropping in distinct disbelief and her complexion became paler and paler as her eyes moved rapidly over the pages. The other servants sat around the table noticed it too and soon all eyes were turned on O'Brien.

She was too consumed by the news in the letter to notice the attention at first, but when she came to the last line and looked up, she soon became aware of their probing eyes on her. "It's from Thomas" she said, her voice betraying her disbelief.

The staff knew that Thomas' plans to avoid the front line by volunteering for the army medical corps hadn't quite gone to plan, when he'd found himself on a ship to France within weeks of completing his training. They all knew what a dangerous place the battlefields of France were, even for medical staff, and Anna was quite apprehensive about the contents of O'Brien's letter. Whilst Anna would never call herself and Thomas friends, the thought that anything had happened to him was quite worrying. Like the rest of the staff, she was anxiously holding her breath, waiting for O'Brien to continue.

"Is he alright?" Mrs Hughes asked, earning her a somewhat surprised and reproachful look from Sarah O'Brien.

If the news in the letter hadn't been quite so startling, Sarah would have been quite basking in all the attention, but as it was, she was too dumbfounded to care. That didn't stop her from pausing for a moment though, increasing the anticipation and curiosity of those in room. She made a show of reading her letter again, before she looked around at the servants all watching her and eventually spoke. "Thomas is fine, he's writin' about William."

"William!" Daisy's shocked voice ran around the servant's hall and she quickly sat down on the empty chair next to Anna. Luckily she had been too preoccupied watching O'Brien's face to pick up any more bowls, otherwise they might have ended up smashed on the floor. Alarm quickly ran around the whole room though; they all knew well enough that if Thomas had met William, it could only mean one thing, William was injured, at the very least. A thousand and one things ran through everyone's minds at O'Brien's words, and most of them were thinking the worst.

"He's been injured, Thomas says." O'Brien continued, confirming everyone's worst fears.

"H… How injured?" Daisy asked nervously and Anna reached over and took the poor girl's hand; she looked like she was about to burst into tears.

After reading a few more lines, purely to delay relaying the news, O'Brien continued. "He's quite bad, Thomas says."

"Oh no!" Daisy wailed and Anna clutched her hand more tightly.

"What has happened to him, Miss O'Brien, does Thomas say?" Mr Carson asked anxiously, hoping to hurry O'Brien up in the explanation.

"Thomas says he was brought in a week or so ago. He was unconscious for a few days and has a broken leg."

"Is he alright now?" Mrs Hughes asked fretfully.

Sarah pretended to scan some more of the letter, not wanting to answer Mrs Hughes' command right away. "Thomas says he's been charged with lookin' after him, but it'll be a while before he's fully recovered."

A few troubled glances went around the servants then, particularly between Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson. Everyone was relieved that William would be alright, but the older staff members knew full well that Thomas and William had been far from friends when they were both footman at Downton Abbey.

For Daisy though, it was the best thing since Christmas and the relief caused her pent up tears to flow full force. Anna quickly put her arms around the poor maid and let her cry into her shoulder.

As everyone's attention drifted from Sarah, she decided it was time to tell them the rest of the news. "That's not the half of it." All eyes were suddenly on her once more and now that the shock of it all had worn off, she was finding it quite enjoyable having everyone waiting for her to speak.

"Well, what is it, Miss O'Brien?" Mrs Hughes asked, running out of patience.

Sarah paused for a moment, enjoying keeping them waiting. "Thomas says William nearly died, that his life was saved by a soldier."

"William!" Daisy cried again, pulling away from Anna and looking at O'Brien in shock.

"According to Thomas, William keeps sayin' he would've died, but this soldier wouldn't leave him and saved his life." Sarah paused before pretending to read the letter again, as if she needed to check the details. When she felt they'd all waited long enough, she dropped the bombshell. "Thomas says that William named the solider as Mr Matthew Crawley."

The entire servant's hall suddenly went deathly silent as the shock of the news engulfed them all. A moment later, it was just as suddenly broken by stunned glances, gasps and whispers.

"Does he say what happened?" Anna quickly asked, eager for more news of these very startling events.

Miss O'Brien perused the letter again, "Apparently, William told Thomas that he was out on the battlefield, with a broken leg and Mr Crawley saw him. He says, Mr Crawley helped him up and then was takin' him to safety when a grenade suddenly went off."

"My goodness," Mrs Hughes exclaimed, putting her hand over her mouth in fright as the horrific visions of the battlefield invaded the thoughts of them all. They all remembered far too vividly the poor state Mr Crawley had been in when he arrived. That he had sustained those vicious injuries saving William's life made them seem simultaneously more honourable and more horrendous.

"Forgive the impertinence, Miss O'Brien, but would you mind if I borrowed this letter to show to his Lordship?" Mr Carson asked, his voice sounding clear above all the shocked whispering of the servants.

Sarah had a quick scan through the pages and took away a few, before handing them to Mr Carson reluctantly. "I want them back, mind."

"Of course!" Mr Carson replied somewhat indignantly, before he got up and began heading towards the door. Before he left though, he turned and addressed all the servants. "I assume you all have some work to be doing." It wasn't a question and the servants quickly stood up and scattered about, though the shocked whispers still continued amongst them.

Daisy remained sitting for a few moments, drying her eyes on her pinafore. "He is alright then, William?" She asked tentatively.

"It would seem so," Anna answered, squeezing Daisy's hand again and giving her a warm smile. "But you better get back to work now, Daisy, before Mrs Patmore comes and finds you."

The reminder of Mrs Patmore quickly spurred Daisy into action and she stood up and, after turning around on the spot a few times, getting her bearings, she continued her task of collecting in the bowls from breakfast. Whilst she still looked distracted and worried, there was a lighter, happier air around Daisy now and Anna couldn't help but laugh quietly at her friends dishevelled behaviour. As she laughed, she happened to catch Mr Bates' eye, who was sitting across the table from her. She gave him a warm smile, which he returned. Happy that Mr Bates wasn't avoiding her at the moment, she quickly spoke to him, "It's such a relief to hear that William is alright, isn't it, Mr Bates?"

"Yes, of course, and it looks like we have the heir to Downton to thank for that." Mr Bates answered. He started to get up then and Anna was anxious to keep their conversation flowing; it wasn't often nowadays that Mr Bates talked to her.

"I have a letter from Gwen," she quickly stated, fishing the letter out of her pocket and holding it out to him. "Would you like to read?"

"Perhaps later, Anna, I think I better find some work to do before Mr Carson comes back." With that, he nodded politely at Anna and walked out, but as he did so, Anna could help but notice a letter sticking out of his pocket. She'd been so eager to read her own letter this morning, she hadn't noticed that he had received one also. The way the letter had been stuffed in his pocket, unopened, immediately made Anna curious, especially when she saw a very feminine handwriting on the envelope.

* * *

"My goodness!" Robert declared, as he put down the letter in front of him and looked at Carson. He'd been sat in his dressing room, enjoying a moment of solitude after breakfast and reading his paper. His mother had taken to coming round very early, and leaving very late, these last few days and Robert had the distinct impression it was so she didn't miss any of the latest news on Matthew's state and recovery. He was pleased enough to see her, as her visits were usually quiet rare, but her almost constant presence now did make it hard to find a moments peace. It was times like this he really felt the loss of his library to the hospital and had taken to escaping to his dressing room instead. He was very glad he was alone when Carson first appeared with the letter, it gave him the time he needed to digest the news without the rest of the family around asking questions. He really couldn't quite believe it though, and he read the pages in front of him again.

"So, Matthew saved William's life." He stated eventually.

"It would appear so, my Lord," Mr Carson answered. He'd read the letter himself a few times before showing it to his Lordship, so he was no longer suffering as much from the shock of it all.

"Well, thank heaven's they are both still alive!" Robert exclaimed. He shook his head a few times, scarcely able to believe it. It wasn't that he doubted his heir's bravery or courage, but to actually read about how he saved the life of their footman in the middle of a war? Well, it was certainly quite a shock! It was also quite a surprise to learn that the servants had been worrying over William. He'd been so concerned for Matthew these last few days, their own distress and anxiety had quite escaped his notice. "I do wish you'd told me about William though. I'm sure I could have found out some information."

"Under the circumstances, my Lord, I thought it would be better not to concern you with the matter."

Robert sighed, he knew Carson meant well, but he was still rather put out that the servants concerns for William hadn't been shared with him. A sudden thought occurred to him though, "There's no reason we should doubt the letter, is there?"

"I doubt it, my Lord," Mr Carson answered. "Thomas would have nothing to gain from fabricating such a story, and William certainly would not tell such a falsehood."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Robert answered. He skimmed the letter again, paying particular attention to the information that Matthew and William had been found next to each other, unconscious on the battlefields. There was no date for this, but Thomas' explanation in the letter; that William had been sent to the hospital he worked in as he was less injured than Matthew, and that Matthew had been sent elsewhere, did seem to confirm everything.

"Well, I'll have to make enquiries of course, but this certainly is good news." He didn't add to Carson how much less he'd feel like celebrating if Matthew had not been safe. Matthew wasn't just his heir any more, he was like a member of his own family and if Matthew had died, even if it was saving another man's life, he would have been devastated.

"I think the rest of the family will be most impressed to hear this news." Robert said, standing up and feeling a lot better than he had for days. Not only were Matthew and William safe, but he now had a very good idea of just what had happened to Matthew, or at least how he'd sustained his injuries.

"Thank you, Carson," Robert excused the servant and began heading to the makeshift drawing room, hoping they had all assembled there after breakfast. He couldn't help but let a smile dance across his face as he walked, immensely proud of his heir and happier than he had felt in a long time.

* * *

_Thanks for still reading. I hope you're still enjoying the story. Please do leave a review – whether it's good or bad! They definitely encourage me to write faster!_


	16. Chapter 16

_Thanks for still reading and for all the kind reviews. I'm sorry for the long delay in writing this next chapter; I've had rather bad writer's block, though I hope it doesn't show too much. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading and reviews, good or bad, are always much appreciated. _

* * *

Whilst the whispers continued downstairs, spreading through the house from the servant's hall to the hospital rooms with the speed of lightning, the subject of their conversations was just awakening, eyes slowly opening as the last remnants of sleep were cast off. Matthew was unaware that he was the topic of so much gossip downstairs. He did not know that every time the story of his actions was repeated, the details were embellished, his own plight exaggerated and his bravery praised. Matthew was just aware of two things when he awoke; the searing pain and a strange weight upon his chest. The pain he was becoming familiar with, but the strange weight intrigued him and he lifted his head very slowly, having already learnt that fast movements only made the pain more unbearable. As his sleep filled eyes took focus, he was surprised to see that the strange weight was none other than Mary's head, resting on his chest. Her eyes were closed, her lids fluttering gently as if she were caught in a pleasant dream, and strands of her dark hair had fallen from the clip and were spilling over onto the pale blanket. Matthew let his gaze rest on her, his mind still groggy with sleep and thoughts, for now, were still waiting to percolate through. For a few moments, he let himself enjoy the sensation of just being able to gaze upon her beauty, all the more resplendent from the tranquillity of sleep. He felt his hand clench slightly as he resisted the urge to reach out and gently stroke her serene face or run his fingers through the loose strands of her hair; he didn't want to wake her.

Sadly though, it wasn't long before his thoughts began to invade and his mind became bombarded with questions. He let out a small sigh, watching the way Mary's head moved slightly with the movement, and did his best to sift through the endless doubts that had begun chasing through his mind. Most were concerned with the vision of beauty that lay before him and, whilst thoughts of her had been ever present in his consciousness since the moment he'd first seen her again, he'd done his best yesterday to keep them at bay. Now, as he watched her sleeping face, her head resting on his chest and her arms folded underneath it, he found it impossible to push thoughts of her away any longer and he was besieged with contradictory questions. What was she doing here this morning? Why had she stayed with him since he'd arrived? Why had she been so cold and distant towards him? And why on earth was she asleep with her head on his chest? He could not find any answers to these questions and whilst that troubled him, it did not surprise him. Lady Mary had always remained a complex and intriguing puzzle to him and his many questions concerning her over the years remained unanswered, including the one question which had demanded an answer above all.

As he looked upon her, memories he'd kept hidden away for such a long time began to filter through into his mind. Memories of the time he'd last been at Downton, of her face as she watched his train grow further away and of all the times he'd ever spent in her company. As the recollections of her returned, so did the accompanying pain and sadness, regrets and longings for what had happened between them. He'd done his best to forget about her in France, to push thoughts of her from his mind and his heart. For the most part he'd succeeded, but distant memories of her still haunted his dreams and every time he'd stepped out of the trenches and onto the battlefield, she'd been there, on the edge of his thoughts. The longer he'd been in Normandy, with the horrors of a ghastly war raging around him and the stench of death and destruction plaguing his every breath, the more sullen and sour his memories of her had become. He'd let his bitterness thrive, let his doubts and resentment fester; it had helped drive her from his mind and convince himself that he'd been entirely incorrect to believe she'd once held him in any regard. If he was forced to admit to it though, in the depths of his mind and deep within his heart, he knew she'd given him a reason to survive. Sometimes it was because he wanted, he _longed_ to see her face again, to hear her laugh and to see her smile, and other times it was because he felt the need to prove himself to her, to prove his strength and agility, his ability to endure and his worthiness of his future role of earl, his worthiness of her.

In the brief moments of quiet and solitude, when his thoughts invariably turned towards home, his life in England, Downton and to her, he'd convince himself that in all likelihood he'd never see her again. That even if he somehow made it through this never ending bloodthirsty war, if he ever returned to England, he would return to Manchester, away from Downton and away from her. He knew one day his destiny would come knocking at his door and that a future at Downton was inevitable, but that part of his future was so distant, so hazy, that he didn't, _couldn't_ allow it to contain Mary. She'd be married off by then for sure, to some rich aristocrat who's past and future prospects were not quite as precarious as his own. Thoughts like that helped fuel his bitterness towards her, but they'd never been able to take away the simple knowledge that he was still deeply in love with Lady Mary. A knowledge he'd done his best to deny, to keep locked away in his heart, buried deep.

He'd never expected to see her again like this, with himself injured and back at Downton, and Mary sitting by his side. His surprise upon first seeing her had caused all the feelings and emotions he'd kept so deeply hidden to burst forth. In an instant it had washed away all the anger, resentment and hatred he'd made himself feel towards her and her reaction had replaced them with hope, with yearning and with adoration. Yet the way she'd looked into his eyes and held his hand were so dissident to how she'd suddenly run away and then turned so cold, so distant towards him. Her actions were so contradictory, that the more he tried to sift through the evidence, including the words of her own family, the more confused he became. He didn't understand why she had evidently stayed by his bedside, why she was even now asleep on his chest, or why yesterday he'd been so sure she'd been about to kiss him. He knew what he wanted to think, what he wanted to believe, but if she did still care for him, perhaps even love him, why was she also so reserved, so detached and hardened towards him? Why did she seem to want to avoid anything more than distant friendship between them? He'd wondered, countless times, whether it was because she was unsure of him, but why should she be? He'd given her enough signs and only closed his own emotions off because she herself had become so cold. No, he could think it through all he wanted, the truth was simple, he just did not care to admit it. Mary did not care for him any more, if she ever had, not in the way he cared for her. There was no other explanation and he was mistaken and foolish if he took her behaviour as meaning otherwise.

He let out a heavy sigh as these final thoughts affirmed themselves in his mind, a heavy sigh which made his chest burn with pain as it rose to accommodate the deep breath. The movement, even though dampened by the blankets, caused Mary to stir and Matthew watched, entranced, as her eyes flickered open and she slowly raised her head. It seemed to take her several moments to fully awaken, for her eyes were dazed and confused as she looked at Matthew in bewilderment. The thoughts Matthew had tried to convince himself of suddenly flew from his mind as he watched her waking, as he saw what looked like affection in her eyes as sleep slowly cleared from them. He wanted to say something then, something to bring forth the truth from her, but he was too caught by her gaze to know how to speak. Instead he started to lift his hand towards her, ready to gently touch her cheek as she raised her head further, but the chance never came, for the next moment, the door flung open and Lord Grantham barged into the room.

"Good morning, Matthew!" Robert bellowed, walking towards Matthew with a giant smile lighting up his face and a few sheets of paper in his hand.

His voice was loud enough to startle both Matthew and Mary, so that her head snapped round and she sat back in her seat, and to wake Isobel out of her slumber, who woke up with quite a start and nearly jumped right out of her chair.

Robert gave her a brief apologetic glance, before turning towards Matthew and asking, "How are you this morning?"

It took Matthew a moment to answer; his thoughts were all a jumbled mess from the odd moment he'd shared with Mary and the confused thoughts he'd been trying to comprehend before. "I feel quite alright, thank you, sir."

Robert paused for a moment, seeing if Matthew had anything else to add, but when he didn't, he continued, "I'm glad to hear that, Matthew. The rest of the family are currently taking breakfast. They do want to see you, but I would like to speak to you first, if I may?" When Matthew gave no objections, Robert sat down on the edge of his bed and waved the paper he was holding in front of them, getting the attention of each. "It appears that we now know more about what happened to you."

Matthew tried to sit up quickly, too quickly in his earnestness to hear more, but he stopped as the ever present pain suddenly became excruciating and he couldn't help but wince. His mother quickly leant over and helped him up, leaving Matthew feeling exceedingly embarrassed at his helpless state, especially when he saw the look of concern and pity on the Earl's face. At least the whole of the family hadn't invaded the room; Matthew hated them seeing him so weak and debilitated, so useless and dependent.

Leaning forward towards his heir, Robert asked, "Can you remember anything about what happened to you, Matthew? Perhaps the involvement of another soldier?"

Matthew closed his eyes, trying his uppermost to recall what had happened to him. He didn't want to remember; the appalling visions of the battlefield only filled him with terror, even now when he was safely away from it all. The Earl's words started to sink in though and the mention of another soldier triggered something in Matthew's head. Almost like a series of photographs joining together, memories started playing through his mind. He remembered hearing a voice, following it and… "William!" Matthew suddenly cried, opening his eyes wide and sitting up abruptly, his surprise at the recollection masking the intense pain the movement brought. He remembered now, seeing the footman from the Abbey, lying on the battlefield, trapped beneath another soldier. He remembered helping the poor lad up, leading him back to the trenches before…before… Matthew's mind seemed to protest this part, not wanting to relive the horrific experience, but he closed his eyes again and forced the memories to come. He recalled the grenade landing by their feet, the long, deathly silence before it suddenly exploded and propelled them both forward... He shuddered as the memory was brought vividly to life in his mind; the cries and screams of the battlefield, the fear he'd felt as he'd watched the grenade fall, the strange clarity a moment before the deafening blast of the explosion. Then the pain, the searing unbearable agony as he'd hit the hard ground with the shrapnel raining down upon them, and then… then nothing but blackness.

He swallowed quickly, pushing the horrifically vivid memories away, forcing his mind back to the present and relaxing his hands which had become fisted tightly in the blanket. "Is he… is William alright?" Matthew asked cautiously, not quite sure if he wanted an answer to his question or not; considering the state he himself was in, he dreaded to think what had become of poor William.

Robert's concern at Matthew's obvious distress was quickly replaced by a smile; at least he could bring the man some good news. "William is safe; he is being treated in France for a broken leg and a few minor injuries." Robert's smile broadened as he prepared himself to air the most exciting part of the letter, exceedingly glad that Matthew had unintentionally confirmed it. "It seems that you saved William's life!"

Mary and Isobel, who had been looking more and more intrigued and anxious since Robert had begun, suddenly let out a joint exclamation of surprise. Matthew just looked embarrassed and, before anyone else could comment, he felt the need to set the record straight. "I wouldn't say I saved William's life. I merely helped him, as any man would do."

Robert's smile only widened at Matthew's modesty. He looked between them all before disclosing the rest of the news with a flourish, his voice full of admiration for his heir. "According to our old footman, Thomas, who, bless the coincidence, is looking after him in France, William is saying that you not only helped him to stand and walk, but refused to leave him when a grenade fell nearby and then took the full brunt of the explosion yourself."

Matthew looked down as the Earl spoke. He couldn't dispute the evidence, not now he remembered, but the assumptions and their implications were far too exaggerated. After searching for the right words to reason and convince them, Matthew said, "I'm very relieved that William is safe, but I did nothing that any soldier wouldn't do for another."

"I doubt that is true," Robert answered somewhat indignantly, "but I'm very happy that both you and William are safe. And that we know more about what happened to you."

At this latest news, Mary and Isobel's eyes had been filled with growing surprise, wonder and admiration and Isobel now turned towards her son with a proud, beaming smile. She patted his hand and said affectionately, "I am incredibly proud of you, Matthew. To risk your life for another is not something every man would do."

Before Matthew had chance to argue with his mother, Mary began talking, her expression now blank, unreadable and her voice dry and somewhat disdainful. "It seems you've become somewhat of a hero, Captain Crawley, risking your life to save our footman." After the words had left her lips, Mary instantly regretted their meaning and obvious cynicism and she wasn't quite sure why she'd said them. Perhaps it was to calm the way her heart had been racing ever since she'd first awoken and looked in Matthew's eyes, perhaps it was because the thought of her beloved Matthew being a hero filled her with so much pride and adoration she had to fight it down with scorn. Perhaps it was simply because she had no explanation for her behaviour upon waking and she had to overcompensate. Whatever the reason may be, Matthew's cold and bitter glare in her direction, though it broke her heart, was proof enough that the icy, safe distance between them still remained.

Matthew bristled at her words, though whether it was due to her tone, her seemingly disregard for the "footman" or her use of his title, Captain, Matthew wasn't sure. Instead he answered her frostily, "I hardly risked my life! And I'm sure any soldier would take a risk to save a fellow comrade, be them a footman or a future earl!"

Isobel knew of her son's fierce, stubborn pride and modesty, but she was too proud of Matthew herself to let him excuse such heroic actions. She was also growing concerned of the hostility brewing between Matthew and Mary and was determined to avoid any further conflict. Perhaps that was why she did not guard her words as carefully as she would otherwise, for she said, "You almost died, Matthew, we very nearly lost you." As she saw the look of alarm crossing Matthew's face, she squeezed his hand affectionately and continued proudly, "If it was to save William's life, I would say that was very heroic indeed."

"Indeed!" Robert agreed, "Which is why I fully intend to have the matter looked into and make sure you are suitably honoured, Matthew."

Matthew suddenly looked up at the Earl in surprise, feeling immensely uncomfortable with the idea that he be considered a hero and rewarded for simply doing his duty. "I do not think that necessary, sir."

Without thinking, and maybe in defiance of Matthew's earlier glare and her own guilt at her unfeeling words, Mary found herself adding dryly, "But of course it is! We must make sure the heir to Downton Abbey is properly recognised for his noble actions, and that he is suitably honoured as a war hero."

Matthew's annoyance increased ten fold at her words, reading only cynicism and disdain within them. They not only proved her lack of regard for him, but her complete indifference for the deadly horrors of war! He did not understand what was making her speak so frivolously and he was about to turn on her when the door suddenly opened and Dr Morris breezed in. "How is our patient today, or should I say war hero?"

The doctor mistook Matthew's sudden grimace as a sign of his injuries and asked, concerned, "Are you in pain?"

It was a stupid question and Matthew was too annoyed at the doctor's earlier words to bother guarding his, "Yes, I am, but no more so than usual, thank you."

Dr Morris was surprised by his patient's harsh tone; usually he was quite a complacent patient so the doctor could only surmise that he had taken a turn for the worst. "Is it your leg?" The doctor asked anxiously and he glanced nervously at Mrs Crawley. They had kept it well bandaged, in the hope of avoiding infection, but if it didn't start to heal soon, it could be quite disastrous for the poor patient. Mrs Crawley shared his agitation and their exchange did not go unnoticed by Matthew. He watched the concern grow on their faces and his earlier frustration at being deemed a hero vanished as their expressions darkened. "What is it?" He asked, his voice more tense than he intended.

Isobel gave him too bright a smile and the sudden squeezing of his hand and her somewhat trembling voice belied her worry. "It's your leg, Matthew, it was very badly damaged."

Dr Morris, with his usual level of decorum, added, "We were going to have to amputate it."

Matthew drew in a sharp breath at this news and his face went quite pale. Isobel could have sworn he looked more shocked at this news than when she'd told him he'd nearly died yesterday. Before he had too long to let the terrible possibility sink in though, Isobel quickly added, "But we deemed it wiser to see if the leg could heal first, and we hope that is happening."

Matthew swallowed nervously and looked at his mother in shock, "So that means, there's still a chance… it could be…" He swallowed again.

"We'll have to take a look at it, see if it's healing," Dr Morris answered.

"Well, if it wasn't for Mary, your leg would have been amputated already!" Robert announced, hoping to cheer the atmosphere and share his admiration for his daughter's thoughtful actions. He himself had tried hard to ignore what would become of Matthew if his injuries didn't heal properly.

"Mary?" Matthew asked bewildered, looking at her in surprise. Her head was turned towards her father and she was fiddling with her necklace.

"Yes," Robert answered proudly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Mary was so distraught of the thought of you losing your leg that she petitioned the doctors and convinced your mother to wait."

"That's quite an exaggeration, papa!" Mary argued, "It was Cousin Isobel who convinced the doctors to spare Matthew's leg."

"Yes, but if you hadn't have stopped Dr Morris before I arrived, Mary, Matthew's leg would have been amputated already."

"I just merely pointed out a few things to the doctor," Mary answered Isobel coldly, rolling her eyes.

"Pointed out a few things!" Her father exclaimed in surprise, "You were almost in hysterics at the very thought of it, Mary! Pleading with the doctors to rethink and begging them to wait for Cousin Isobel!"

"That's hardly what happened, papa" Mary insisted, glaring at her father before turning her head towards the window behind her, away from them all, as she pulled more fiercely on her pendant.

Matthew simply looked between them all in horror and shock, then confusion and perplexity. The thought of losing his leg felt more real and terrifying than the thought that he'd nearly died. He couldn't begin to envisage what his life would be like if he was without the ability to walk, to move around freely and retain his independence. His surprise only grew when he discovered it was his mother and Mary who had thus far prevented that misfortune. His mother's involvement did not surprise him, though he was exceedingly grateful for it, but Mary? The idea of her even helping to convince the doctors was enough of a surprise for Matthew, but, if her father was to be believed, it appeared that she'd been quite overcome. She was still staring out of the window as Matthew looked at her with admiration and bewilderment, yet again finding it impossible to make sense of her contradictory actions.

"Yes, well, I think we need to see how the leg is healing before we make any judgements on what was the right course of action." Dr Morris quickly added, not enjoying his professionalism being called into question. He glanced around at the people in the room and said, "It should have started healing by now if it is going to." He held Mrs Crawley's eyes as he added, "I think now would be the right time to make a decision." When Isobel nodded nervously in reply, the doctor bent down, pushed aside the part of the blanket that was covering it and began unwrapping the bandage around Matthew's broken leg.


	17. Chapter 17

To everyone in the room, it felt as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for Matthew's fate to become known as the bandage was unravelled. Both Mary and Matthew felt their hearts begin to pound in dread and anticipation, their faces staring determinedly at the doctor, watching his every move and his every expression for the first signs of a diagnosis. Though the doctor's hands were gentle, Matthew still felt the pain increase around his leg as the pressure of the bandage was released and his leg was gently lifted to facilitate the action. He hadn't moved his leg at all since he'd awoken yesterday and the agony the movement unleashed caused him to gasp aloud, earning him concerned faces all around and filling his own heart with more trepidation. If the unbearable pain centred within his injured calf was anything to go by, he feared what their examination would uncover. He felt his mother squeeze his hand reassuringly and then, much to his surprise, he felt Mary take his other. He looked at her in shock, but she was staring resolutely at the doctor and her action seemed almost so reflexive that Matthew did not comment. Instead he turned his own attention back to the doctor and sucked in another sharp breath of pain as his wound was exposed to the open air. Then, Matthew could not see the doctor's face anymore, for he'd bent over and begun examining his leg, joined moments later by his mother, who'd let go of his hand and moved beside the doctor to peer down at his injury, their prying eyes like swords digging into his flesh. His own heart rate sped up and his hand instinctively squeezed Mary's, as his eyes closed for a moment, awaiting the inevitable.

When he opened them again, he saw his mother and the doctor on the other side of the room, murmuring quietly between them. His mother caught his eye, but then she looked away again, back at the doctor and kept her head down. This only increased Matthew's anxiety and he gripped Mary's hand harder still. He tried to lean forwards, to catch sight of his leg and discover the damage for himself. The excruciating pain he felt at the movement prevented him from leaning far and it was only dulled in comparison to the sharp pain of his injured leg as the movement seemed to reverberate through him. His breath caught in his throat and he felt his stomach churn at the little he could see. All that consisted of was a horrifying amount of blood soaked bandages bunched around his leg, obscuring his injury and falling about in stark contrast to the pale blue blanket he lay under. He'd seen plenty of shockingly red and yellow bandages before; they were a common sight within the makeshift hospitals near the battlefields he'd had far too many occasions to visit. He'd seen the cloths and the wash water full of blood after the nurses had cleaned his other wounds only yesterday, but this sight, and the accompanied fear that he may no longer have a leg to look upon, was almost too much for him to bear.

After what felt like a lifetime of worry and fear, his mother eventually turned back towards him and stepped forwards. Her face was unreadable and her voice neutral as she began the explanation that had the potential to catastrophically change Matthew's life for good. After every word she spoke it felt like an eternity before the next and the professional countenance his mother adopted, talking to him as a nurse not a mother, simultaneously brought comfort and fear. That he was in the hands of such an accomplished and experienced nurse gave him confidence, but that she felt the need to hide behind this façade struck terror into his heart. He didn't know how he'd cope, how he'd survive if he lost his leg, his means of independence and his ability to remain active. He'd taken so much for granted in his life, even in the darkest moments of war when death had surrounded and suffocated him. Now, the ability of walking, something so simple and normal, felt like a treasure, a necessity, as important to him as breathing and the thought of being without it struck more fear into him than he'd ever felt, even as he'd daily stepped out onto that battlefield in Normandy, even as he'd heard the echoes of the gunfire and explosions of warfare reverberate through his nightmares and even as he'd seen that grenade fall, seeming so harmless, by his feet… These thoughts were only making it difficult to concentrate on his mother's words and the implications they could have were ricocheting around his mind and left his ears ringing with terror and with the pounding of his heart.

"Myself and Dr Morris have examined your leg, Matthew, and we have agreed on the best way to proceed." Isobel took a deep breath, steadying herself for the news, knowing that whilst it affected herself greatly, it affected her own, dear son so much more. She chose her words carefully and kept her voice and expression contained, not wanting to show any indication of what the news may be before the words were spoken. Her hands were shaking at her side, but she resisted her deep maternal instinct to hold her son's hand. She suddenly noticed the way Matthew's hand was clutching Mary's and the sight strangely gave her courage; she was not the only person in her son's life who would be greatly affected by her news. Looking at Robert and Mary, including them in the importance of her words, she continued. "The leg is still badly damaged, it is not healing as we," here she gave Dr Morris a look as he cleared his throat rather too obviously. "As I," she corrected, "had hoped." She paused again as she saw her audience's stricken faces, saw the terror in their eyes as they began to fear the worst. If only she could fully set their minds and hearts at ease, if only she had simply good news to impart. Still, there was one shard of light in all of this despair and, before their fear could set in completely, she passed on the only good news she could. "Luckily, the wound has not become infected, so an amputation won't be necessary, but…" Isobel added quickly, as she saw the sudden joy threatening to light their faces. She did not want to raise their hopes too much, not when she knew how it could lead to such potential misery further on. "If the leg doesn't begin healing properly soon, there is a very good chance that it may leave you crippled, Matthew."

Matthew took in his mother's words as if through a hazy dream, hardly able to believe they were true, hardly able to know what to make of them. The fact that his leg would not be lost was such a relief that Matthew had only been coming to terms with it when his mother's next words hit him. The knowledge that he may become a cripple was yet another blow, yet another set back in his recovery and yet another uncertainty hanging over his future. Once again, his life was not his own, once again he was being swept away with the current of uncertainty, lost at sea with no idea of what the future may hold. The feeling should not surprise him though, it had haunted him ever since the day he'd first received Lord Grantham's letter, when his life had been pulled out from under him and he'd been badgered into coming here. Then, just as he'd been about to reassert himself, to take his life back, he'd been shipped off to war, like so many thousands of nameless men, and sent out to die. And now here he was, once again pulled back to Downton by the magnetic force of his destiny which he was unable to fight, sent here with all these wounds, to be pitied and dependent as he recovered, to be pitied and mocked by _her_, and now… Matthew swallowed back the bile rising in his throat, now his future was yet again out of his control, he was the victim of his injuries and his fate, his independence, his life, was entirely reliant on how well they would heal. At least an amputation would have ended it all, would have chopped back the uncertainty, sliced away the unknown and allowed him to start making plans, his plans, for his own future. Now, once again, all he could do was wait.

"What… What can be done?" Matthew found himself asking slowly, fighting back the nausea that was threatening to overwhelm him. Being a cripple wouldn't be so bad, he tried to convince himself, as long as he could still walk, still be active, still retain some degree of dignity and independence, he would manage, surely. The flicker of doubt in mother's eyes, her hesitation as she took an anxious look at the doctor did not help settle these thoughts and he found himself gripping Mary's hand more tightly, as if it were some small lifeline to control, to recovery, to reality. He didn't look at her, too consumed was he with his own thoughts and trying to understand his mother's, but if he had, he'd have seen a reflection of his own fears and doubts and dread in her eyes. For Mary felt little relief at the news that Matthew's leg would not be lost, as the knowledge that he may be crippled was almost as horrifying and if she clutched at Matthew's hand as tightly as he did to hers, it was little indication of the terrifying trepidation she felt within her own heart for him, her beloved Matthew.

Isobel's slight pause in continuing seemed the only invitation the doctor needed to come forwards, almost pushing Isobel out of the way. "As it happens," he began, "an amputation is no longer the way forward. However…" Dr Morris gave a meaningful glance at Isobel and Mary, as if insinuating that his judgement had been correct and an amputation then would still have been the best for all. "In order to encourage the leg to heal, we need to stitch and bandage it up properly with plaster and then," he all but glowered at his patient then, as if daring him to challenge his words. "You must ensure that you keep the leg as immobile as possible – any movement may prevent it from healing properly."

"Which means you will have to stay here for many weeks, Matthew," Isobel interrupted the doctor, her kind yet professional voice a stark contrast to the doctor's authoritative and conceited tone.

Matthew simply nodded blankly at his mother's words, hardly taking them in with his thoughts still reeling from the earlier news.

"Well, I think it best we stitch up and plaster the leg now, Mrs Crawley," Dr Morris began. "I will just go and collect the relevant things." He nodded at Isobel, encouraging her to follow, before giving Mary and Robert a meaningful and almost condemning look.

Robert took the hint and exclaimed, "Well, I think this good news I will pass onto the family." He smiled fondly and warmly at his heir, focusing his thoughts and attentions on the good news that Isobel had shared and pushing away the nagging doubts and dreads that still remained. Mary, however, refused to even acknowledge the doctor's hint and continued to stare off into the distance, still clutching Matthew's hand.

The Earl's encouraging smile helped somewhat to settle Matthew's worries and he gave his own smile, albeit weak, as everyone bar Mary left the room. They both stared at the doorway for a good few moments, before they seemed to become aware it was now only them remaining. Mary turned her head towards Matthew and then glanced down at their hands still intertwined on the blanket. Looking up suddenly, she caught Matthew's eye for a moment, before she quickly pulled her hand away and turned her gaze back towards the window. An uncomfortable silence then fell around them for several moments, before Matthew asked the question that had been plaguing him for some while. "How… how bad does it look?"

The question shocked Mary and she looked back at him suddenly. She didn't have to ask what he meant by it, but it was not a question Mary particularly wanted to answer. She'd been avoiding looking at Matthew's wound since the bandages were undone, but his question now forced her gaze and she leant over and looked down at the ghastly injury and felt her stomach churn. At least Mary could say it was not as bad as when he'd first arrived, the once splintered and disjointed bone was no longer visible but the tissue and sinew still clung to the rough stitches in thick, blood stained chunks and even Mary, with all her limited knowledge, could see how raw and unhealed the flesh was. She turned to Matthew, but her expression had said it all; she was not as well practiced in dealing with patients as his mother, nor was she quite so used to seeing such grotesque injuries. She swallowed and thought on her words cautiously before speaking, telling what little truth she could. "It looks far better than when you first arrived, Matthew. Your mother certainly is very skilled and she did everything she could for you when you came." She didn't say anything more and luckily Matthew didn't press her for details, and so Mary quickly moved her gaze away from the injured calf and sat back in her chair.

The strained silence then fell around them once more, both lost in their own thoughts about Matthew's injury, the words of his mother and the implications it could have on his future and on hers. Matthew felt his eyes travel to her of their own accord, watching for a moment as her fingers continually twisted in her necklace and her gaze remained fiercely concentrated on the window. He clenched his hand by his side, the one she'd been holding and which still held the marks of her fingers tightly wrapped around it. He struggled to find the words his heart wanted to say, to find the courage to voice the overwhelming thoughts in his mind as he watched her. Eventually, he found the ability to speak and said simply, "Thank you, Mary."

Mary whipped her head around to face him quickly, surprised at the heaviness of his tone and the earnestness behind his words. She did her best to flash him a nonchalant smile as she answered, keeping her voice as light as she could manage. "What on earth for?"

Matthew simply looked into her eyes for a moment, his gaze suddenly intense and full of all the tumult of emotion he'd felt so far this morning. So much had happened and so much had become known, but above all, the knowledge that had surprised him the most was what Mary had done for him, what she still seemed to be doing for him. Whilst her contradictory behaviour only confused him more by the moment, he knew he would be forever grateful for her actions and it was now uppermost in his heart that she should at least know how much he appreciated them. "For saving my leg, Mary, and for keeping me company."

Mary couldn't hold his gaze any longer and she quickly looked away in embarrassment. The growing intensity and intimacy of the atmosphere around them was starting to suffocate her and she was determined to lighten the air; she knew she had to be careful as they were starting to tread on very shaky, thin and icy ground. "I didn't really do anything, Matthew, it was your mother who stood up to the doctors. You should have seen her! I don't think even granny, had she been there, would have said a word against her." She gave a soft laugh, though it sounded weak even to her own ears.

"Whatever you did do, Mary, I am very grateful."

Matthew's words were still too fervent and serious for Mary's liking and she tried again to brighten the mood, making her voice as frivolous as she could. "Well, we have to look after the future Earl of Grantham, don't we? Especially if he has in mind to risk his life to make himself a war hero."

When Matthew suddenly glanced away and an annoyed, almost wounded look crossed his face, Mary knew her barb had been successful.

"I'm hardly any sort of war hero, Mary." He replied frostily and Mary saw his eyes becoming cold and remote once more. She knew she should be pleased about that, but at times such as these, when she thought she caught a glimpse of hurt in his eyes, it wasn't easy to convince herself of it. She had to try harder to keep her distance though, especially as her family kept on mentioning things that were highly inappropriate. At least now she could be assured in the knowledge that there was nothing else embarrassing about her recent conduct that they could share; he already knew it all. The only unknown factor now was his mother, as Cousin Isobel had been witness to Mary's despair and desolation that night and had no doubt reached her own conclusions as to their meaning. She could only hope that her cousin would not make Matthew privy to this information, or at the very least that he would have no reason to believe it. Making sure Matthew was convinced about her lack of regard for him was the surest way to do that.

"Well, your mother and my father certainly seem to disagree with that." She gave another deliberately too bright smile and continued flippantly, "You did nearly die and you did save William's life, I think that classifies itself as a heroic act."

With a loud exasperated sigh, Matthew tried once more to convince her, "I was only fulfilling my duty, Mary, doing what any soldier would for another man." As he repeated those words he'd used earlier, he was struck with the obvious falsehood within them. There were plenty of stories Matthew had heard of men with only minor injuries being left to die out on the battlefield. Horrific stories of commanding officers even ordering their soldiers to leave injured comrades behind to suffer and die and rot in the suffocating mud and stench of no mans land. Such was the brutality of the battlefield and he would never share those horrors with Mary, with any of his cousins or even his mother, he would never let their own nightmares be plagued the way his own had continually been for the last nearly two, bloodthirsty years he'd been at war.

Mary had seen the shadows cross his face, had noticed the way he fought back his memories and swallowed quickly, the way he'd refused to meet her gaze, his face like a steel mask of determination and resolve. With far more concern than she knew was appropriate, she looked at him and said, "The evidence only speaks for itself, Matthew, and it is something to be proud of, not ashamed by."

The steel mask softened slightly and he looked like he may be about to speak, words Mary was sure would not be suitable, and she was quite relieved when that second the door opened and Dr Morris, Cousin Isobel and a trail of nurses piled into the room. They were followed at the back by Dr Clarkson, who had come by to visit the patients at the Abbey and in particular Mr Crawley. With so many professionals in one room, Mary knew Matthew was in the safest of hands, though she couldn't help but feel a slight moment of relief that her sister was not among the nurses, a strange feeling, but one she could not quite ignore.

As ever, Dr Morris was determined to take over and announced with far too much cheer in his voice given the gravity of his words, the horror of the situation and what they were about to do. "We need to redo the stitches in your leg, Mr Crawley, proper tight stitches now we know the wound is not infected. Then, it will need to be tightly plastered and a splint added for good measure." He gave Matthew a look of reproach as he then continued, "You must not, under any circumstances, move your leg, otherwise it will never heal and you will be left crippled."

A sharp swallow and drop of Matthew's gaze to the blanket showed his feelings upon the doctor's words and Isobel deemed it appropriate she should continue, her voice far more sympathetic and comforting than the doctor's almost indulgent and professional tone. "We think it would be best if you were put under anaesthetic for this, Matthew. Given the nature of the wound, it may prove a more complicated and painful procedure."

Matthew looked at his mother and nodded slowly, both due to her words and the need to prevent too much movement of his own. The thought of the anaesthetic worried him, especially the need for it, but he trusted his mother's judgement and seeing Dr Clarkson standing by the nurses further increased his confidence. Dr Morris, however, was determined to make sure this time he stayed in charge and, seeing Mr Crawley's slow nod of permission, carefully began measuring out the chloroform dosage.

The nurses seemed to know their roles well enough and spread out along the bed. They gave Mary a look of annoyance and anxiety by turn, but she ignored them and Cousin Isobel knew better than to say anything now. It would not be a sight for a Lady, but Mary had certainly proven herself to be made of stronger, sterner stuff and she simply nodded at her young cousin. Mary stood up as the chair was moved to allow the doctor room, but stayed lingering by Matthew's bed. She caught his eye as she looked down at him, his mother helping him to lie back before Dr Morris appeared with the chloroform. Mary felt his hand instinctively reach out and grasp hers and she held his gaze until his eyes became clouded and then fluttered closed as the anaesthetic took hold.

Mary never let go of his hand, only moving out of the way as needed as the doctors and nurses tended to Matthew's leg. She watched them all as if in a daydream, their voices and instructions floating around her head as incoherent words she was unable to focus upon. She helped whenever she could, but there was little she was needed for and it felt like a scarce half hour, though she knew it must have been longer, before they all stood up, stretched and admired their handiwork. Matthew's leg was now encased in a bright white plaster bounded tightly between two wooden splints. Then, Cousin Isobel carefully replaced the blanket over her son's leg before uttering general thanks to the nurses and the two doctors as they filtered from the room. Mary nodded her own silent thanks, not quite finding the ability to speak through her daydream.

When it was only the three of them remaining, Cousin Isobel turned towards Mary, her voice weary yet encouraging and comforting. "Matthew will be alright now, Mary. The anaesthetic will last several hours and he won't be awake again for a good while. Perhaps you should get some rest yourself and some food."

Mary simply nodded weakly, for some reason feeling completely drained and exhausted, though she had done little to help. She had half a mind to advise Cousin Isobel herself to take rest, but she thought the better of it, her cousin knew her own limitations well enough and many a night Mary had knew she'd worked continuously into the small hours at the hospital. Instead, Mary just gave her a weak smile of thanks and, for the first time since he'd clutched it, Mary let go of Matthew's hand and took his mother's advice.


	18. Chapter 18

_Okay, two apologies to start with; firstly so sorry for the delays in posting the chapters recently, my muse has really not wanted to write what I want her to write at all. Secondly, because of that, I'm afraid this chapter is really not up to stratch. Still, I hope you enjoy reading it anyway and can ignore how badly written it is!_

_Oh and also, I'd like to say now, there are a number of spoilers coming out for the second series, some of which are the same as elements in this story and some of which aren't. I have still got quite a lot planned for this story, so I do intend to keep on writing (as long as I still have readers of course!), but it will not be finished before series 2 starts. So this story will basically end up being AU, but I hope that doesn't stop you from enjoying it. I hope, rather than seeing it as anti-canon, you can instead see it as a plausible and somewhat realistic alternative scenario for series 2. Oh and I planned this whole story back in spring, before we even knew about any new characters, and I'm not about to change my plot now to fit them in! So anything that is different or the same as whatever happens in series 2, it's entirely coincidental._

_Phew, that was a long note! I'll shut up now and let you read - I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

When Robert entered the makeshift drawing room after leaving Matthew in the hands of the doctor and nurses, it was clear he had interrupted the conversation about the very same person. The family all looked up at his arrival and their voices hushed, faces waiting expectantly for some news. Robert beamed at them, glad he did have some happy news to impart at last. He told his eager audience that Matthew was not only remembering what had happened to him, but that he confirmed the truth within the letter from Thomas about William. Before talk could commence once more on their war hero, Robert passed on his other piece of news about the heir to his estate. "It appears that Matthew's leg is healing well and it will not have to be amputated, after all."

These words were met with an audible sigh of relief from those in the room, for whilst they'd all tried to push their fears aside, they each had worried what may become of Matthew and his badly injured leg. Robert decided not to tell them the full truth of Matthew's injuries though; that his leg was far from recovered and may very well leave him crippled yet. There was no use worrying the family over such things when so much was still unknown. Instead, Robert made sure his smile did not slip as conversation again continued around him, all talk once more on Matthew.

"I imagine Mrs Crawley is enjoying her victory over the doctors," Violet remarked dryly as she picked up her teacup and maintained her sour faced expression. She had heard all about the woman's antics in arguing with the professionals and determining she knew best. Violet could only image how triumphant she would be over what must surely have been nothing more than a lucky coincidence.

"I think Cousin Isobel is just relieved her son is recovering," Cora answered, trying to keep the peace out of habit, even though there was no Isobel around to continue the argument.

"Well, if anyone deserves the credit, it's Mary," Edith added sourly, looking down into her breakfast in distaste. "It was her near breakdown in front of the servants that delayed the doctor."

Everyone looked at Edith in surprise, not sure whether to take her comment as a compliment or a slight. Robert was the first to answer though, keeping his smile fixed as he finished helping himself to breakfast and sat down at the head of their small dining table. "Yes, it is Mary we have to thank for Matthew's recovery, and Cousin Isobel and the nurses and doctors, of course," he quickly added. "Imagine if Matthew had indeed lost his leg…"

Silence reigned for a few moments after his words, as everyone's worst fears for the past few days came flooding back. For Robert, those thoughts were far darker as he alone knew the truth of Matthew's injury. He prayed his heir would recover fully, not for his own sake, or the estate's, but for the man he almost viewed as a son. He knew how much his valet Bates suffered with his limp and worried that Matthew's fate may be far worse. He would struggle managing the estate for sure, there was much walking and activity to be done in looking after so many tenants and farm land, but it was Matthew himself he worried for most and how his proud and independent heir would react if he was confined to the life of a cripple. Feeling his smile start to slip and eager to not upset the family, he did his best to push aside these melancholy thoughts, for there was little use worrying would do any of them.

"Well, thank goodness Mary _did_ say something, and Cousin Isobel. Poor Matthew has been through enough already." Cora finally answered, eager to move the conversation on to happier topics. "It is exciting that he should become a hero though."

A rather unladylike snort from Edith drew everyone's attention as she said sullenly, "I bet Mary's too busy kicking herself for letting not only a future earl, but now a war hero get away to be much excited about anything!"

"You are going to look into the matter, aren't you, Robert?" Cora decided it was best to just ignore her daughter's bitter words, especially as they all knew the truth within them. "He really deserves some recognition after all he's been through."

"Why yes, then Mrs Crawley can parade about telling all and sundry of her dear heroic son! As if she needs any more encouragement!"

"I do plan on following the matter up, yes dear." Robert answered, completely ignoring his mother. "It is very likely he will receive a medal for his brave actions."

As the conversation flowed around her, Sybil found herself unable to join the chatter, she was instead watching her father intently. The beaming smile on his face kept wavering and it did not meet his eyes. She had seen the severity of Matthew's injury for herself and even without her extensive training as a nurse, she was incredibly worried for him. She was pleased at the news that it would no longer have to be amputated, but the worry that hid within her father's eyes told her there was still more to the story he had not made known. She was about to ask, feeling such news was best shared with everyone, when Carson came in and interrupted her thoughts.

"A letter for you, my Lord," the butler said, holding out a small silver plate with a single letter perched on top.

"Thank you, Carson," Robert answered, slowly taking the letter from the plate, feeling a sense of foreboding grow within his gut. He recognised the post mark straight away and, even if he hadn't, the formal and simplistic style of writing on the envelope would have given the sender away immediately. He avoided his family's enquiring eyes as he picked up a clean knife and quickly sliced open the envelope from the war office. He scanned the letter quickly at first, eager to take in its contents, before returning to the top and reading the words in greater detail. It was only once he'd fully taken in the details of the letter that he dropped it down to the table and faced his family's probing eyes.

"It's from the war office. There are some urgent matters that require attention and they request my presence immediately." It was not much information, but the family knew as well as he did that he was not at liberty to divulge the greater contents of the letter, as worrying as their words may be for them all.

"Must you go straight away; you were only there a few weeks ago?" Cora asked, her voice suddenly anxious. She did find herself worrying so when Robert left for London. Whilst she knew he would be relatively safe in the offices in London, she always feared his work would find him travelling across the Channel and to the battlefields of France. She missed him terribly when he was not at the Abbey and, whilst they did not show it, she knew their daughters both missed and feared for him too. "Especially when your heir is still so soon returned and so badly injured."

"I may be able to put it off for a few days, but I doubt any more." Robert sighed and wearily wiped his forehead with his hand. He had as much enthusiasm to return to London as his wife did, but, as he was no longer young enough to fight himself, this was his only way of helping in the war, his way of helping to save his King and country. Determined to remain positive, he looked up and plastered a smile to his face once more. "Still, it will give me chance to investigate in person what led to Matthew being sent here in such terrible condition and allow me to look into his heroic actions. I am sure there will be a medal in this for our heir."

"And perhaps you could find one for Mrs Crawley too, for her heroic actions at arguing with doctors and trying to take care of everything herself!"

"Mama!" Robert reprimanded, but he was given only a sour look in response from his mother.

"Well, Mary better watch out! If Matthew is given a medal of honour, he'll have even more of the nurses after him." Edith added, contemptuously, pushing aside her breakfast and standing up. She ignored both her father and mother as they called her name in chastisement and walked out of the room. Let them say what they wanted, it was true. The more eligible Matthew became, and the more admirers he found, the more Mary was sure to chase after him and regret letting him get away. She did always like a challenge and victory over those she considered beneath her and, for Mary, that pretty much consisted of everyone Edith thought dryly.

As soon as she left their tiny dining room, she headed for the great stairs and then the makeshift hospital. She glanced around her as she went, making sure none of the eagle eyed servants were around to gossip. It was not unusual for Edith to visit the hospital, she quite enjoyed sitting with the soldiers and talking to them, listening to their stories and their tales of battle and the lives they'd once known. She did not have the skills or the dedication to take up nursing like her sister, but Edith knew the soldiers enjoyed having a young lady to talk to and it was her own small effort in this miserable war. She also found it rather a nice change that the soldiers were willing to talk and listen to her, not like her own family, who liked to overlook her as often as they could. What she was trying to avoid was anyone noticing a particular soldier she visited far more than any other. He was only a few years older than herself and rather handsome, or at least Edith liked to think he was, beneath all those bandages that covered his face. He did have such pretty eyes though, and a pretty voice, and Edith loved talking to him more than any of the other soldiers. He had been here a few weeks now and had recently been moved to a new bed in the corner of the library. A few nurses gave her a suspicious look as she headed straight towards him, but Edith paid them no heed, she did not care what they thought and she knew they would not gossip like the servants were want to do.

"Hello Officer Grant," she said in greeting as she approached the bed the solider lay upon. He turned around and smiled at the sound of her voice and Edith felt a warm rush of delight spread through her; at least there were some people who were happy to see her.

"Hello Lady Edith," he replied, making an effort to sit up. She immediately reached over to help, but he held his hands up to stop her, determined to do it under his own steam. When he was seated more comfortably, Edith took a chair and sat beside him. "And how are you today?"

"Never better, thank you, Lady Edith," he replied, his voice teasing. At first Edith had not known what to say to the officer when he spoke so, but she was long used to his teasing now and how he hid his troubles behind his playful words. "And yourself?"

"I am good, thank you James."

"And your sister, Lady Mary, how is she?"

Edith tried hard not to let her face sour at his question. He always did like to ask after her stupid sister, despite how rarely he ever saw her. Mary did not frequent the hospital much and came and talked to the soldiers even less. But for the brief few moments Mary had visited once, Officer James Grant had taken quite a shine to Lady Mary and, despite very few visits since, Edith knew the soldier still admired her sister. It did not surprise her, everybody always preferred and admired Mary, even when she was never around or had no kind words to say. Edith knew though, that if the officer had a nice fortune or title he was set to inherit, her sister would have paid far more attention to the poor soldier. "Mary is as well as ever," Edith eventually replied, unable to quite keep all the bitterness from her voice. "She spends most of her time with our cousin, Matthew, who has returned quite injured."

"Oh yes, Captain Matthew Crawley, we all heard about him you know." He gave her a conspiratorial wink, "The heir to this whole estate and the one Lady Mary almost married!" He kept his voice light, playful, but Edith could see the flash of hurt in his beautiful brown eyes at the news. She felt a twinge of guilt then, but quickly pushed it down. She was only telling the truth after all and it was a truth James needed to hear. She did not want to see yet another man cast aside and left to rot in the gutter by her sister. Edith knew full well people liked to tease and gossip about how she picked up her sister's scraps, but it wasn't like that, not really. Edith knew well enough how her arrogant and selfish sister liked to stomp on the lives and hearts of those around her and she was determined to help all those who suffered under Mary's thoughtless ways. "Well, if you ask me, Cousin Matthew made quite a lucky escape!"

James gave her a funny look which Edith was far too used to receiving from her family and looked away for a moment in guilt. She quickly recovered herself and asked, "So, what will it be today, James? Would you like me to read a story to you?"

"If you wouldn't mind awfully, perhaps we could continue with our daily bible reading?" James asked politely and Edith sighed inwardly. He was the injured soldier and it was his choice after all, but reading the bible to him cover to cover was quite trying even for her. They had only reached the middle of Deuteronomy and she was already quite sick of the whole thing. It was bad enough when the pastor preached it to them on a Sunday morning!

Edith hid her look of boredom though and picked up the great weighty bible from beside his bed. Opening it up at the last chapter she'd read, Edith continued on with the story of the Israelites and the sermons of Moses. After a while, Edith noticed that James' eyes had closed and a few moments later saw his chest rise and fall in regular breathing. With a sigh she shut the bible on the bookmark and put it back by his bed. She stayed to watch him a few minutes, as he drifted further into sleep, but it wasn't long before she was bored. She stood up slowly and glanced around the other soldiers in the room. She knew they would appreciate some company too, but she was not really in the mood. She was still far too annoyed at her eldest sister, both from hearing her praises sung at breakfast and now from the attention of Office James Grant. Instead she headed towards the doors of the hospital, intending to go up to her room, when she nearly walked into the very creator of her foul mood. Mary was just entering the library as Edith was leaving and she seemed far too distracted to pay attention to anyone

"Would you watch where you're going!" Edith glared at her sister as she just stepped away from her in time.

Mary looked up in shock, surprised to see Edith standing there and even more surprised that she'd nearly ran into her.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Edith challenged, narrowing her eyes at her sister and feeling her resentment towards her come bubbling to the surface, mixed in with the anxiety that Mary may know where she'd been.

Mary's surprise fell away in moments as she took in her sister's contempt and the fretful look in her eye suspiciously. It was too easy to fall back into the usual state of animosity with her sister, despite how fixated her thoughts had been on worries for their cousin. She glared at her sister in turn and replied acidly, "Not that it's anything to do with you, but I am looking for Cousin Isobel."

"Well she's not here and I'm surprised you can bear to tear yourself away from Matthew to find her! I thought you would be too afraid he falls for a nurse in your absence to ever leave his side."

Mary just glared at her sister further, but she was not going to rise to that bait, especially as there was far too much truth in Edith's words. Instead Mary tried another strategy, one which took the attention off her completely and was sure to rile her sister further.

"I don't need to ask what you're doing here, Edith. Sending Officer Grant to sleep again are we? Did he ask after me again?" It was a cruel shot, but Mary was finding her frustration at her younger sister increasing and she was unable to resist the chance to taunt her. She knew full well that Edith had her eye on the handsome officer and that the officer had his eye on her. That was the main reason Mary had avoided coming to visit the officer, and indeed the hospital recently, for she did not want to give the poor soldier the wrong impression. Now that Matthew had arrived, Mary had little time to visit anyone anyway, for she had hardly wanted to leave Matthew's side at all. Not that she had to explain her actions to her petulant younger sister of course and she glared at her instead.

Edith was long used to these bitter arguments with Mary and was determined to stand her ground. She clutched her hands by her sides in frustration, her nails digging into her palms. "So what if I am? It's not as if you care, Mary. He's not rich or privileged enough for you! You only want someone who's rich and has a title!" Edith's words were laced with malice and anger, both at her sister's taunting and her selfish disregard for anyone but herself.

So consumed with rage at her sister, Edith failed to notice the look of sorrow that crossed her sister's face as she spoke, nor the sad irony beneath her words, "Yes, I suppose I do." With those last words, Mary swiftly left the library, leaving Edith to glare after her retreating back.

She did not glare after her sister for long though, she ignored all the looks of the nurses and the odd servant scattered around and made her way outside to the gardens, in the vain effort to walk off some of her anger and annoyance.

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_If you've made it this far, then thanks a lot for still reading! Reviews are always very much appreciated, be they good or bad, and I'd like to say thanks to everyone who has already left me such kind reviews! They really do make my day!_


	19. Chapter 19

_So, first of all a massive apology for the incredibly long wait in updating this story. Due to a mixture of writer's block and series 2 being shown, I've been unable to write the story. I do however still have a lot planned for the story, and hopefully will be able to update it much, much quicker now!_

_And also, now that series 2 has aired, this story becomes a definitie AU. I hope you still read though, and see this story as a plausible alternative scenario for series 2. I won't be changing any of what I had planned, so any similarities or differences between this and the actual second series are entirely coincidental. I'd like to say great minds think alike, but I'm not quite that confident! ;-) _

_Anyway, hope you enjoy reading, thanks for sticking with the story over it's hiatus and I hope to get the next chapter written much, much sooner than this!_

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In the end, Robert managed to delay his journey to London by just over a week. With Matthew recovering now, and the demands of the war office even stronger in subsequent letters, he knew he could put it off no longer. And so with a heavy sigh he stood in the hallway, watching the commotion of the servants swarming around, carrying suitcases and boxes as they prepared for his journey. The second sigh that escaped his lips at all this brouhaha was far louder this time and he despaired for the umpteenth time how much luggage he had to take. With all these different uniforms and suits, it was almost enough to rival Cora and the girls. It didn't help that where once had walked strong, sturdy footmen, there now were only smaller, weaker maids and Robert lamented that the poor girls should have to carry anything so heavy at all. He would have much preferred to carry the suitcases himself, but poor Carson was anxious and fretful enough already. There was already so much change in the house, Robert didn't know how the traditional butler would take it if the earl carried his own suitcases.

When one unfortunate scullery maid walked past and a perched box started to slide precariously off the pile, Robert took a chance on upsetting the butler and reached forwards, steadying the box before it toppled to the floor.

"I... I'm sorry, m'Lord. Thank… thank you, m'Lord," the girl stammered nervously, curtseying quickly before she resumed her frantic pace and rushed away with the luggage. Robert gave the nervous girl a reassuring smile, but she'd already disappeared and instead he caught Carson glaring after the poor scullery maid reproachfully. The butler turned towards him and his frown immediately turned to one of apology as he walked towards the Earl.

"I'm very sorry, my Lord," Carson apologised, his voice so grave one would think the very sky had fallen from the clumsiness of the maid. "I can assure you, it won't happen again."

The third sigh, Robert managed to contain, though his voice was weary as he replied, "It's quite alright Carson, no harm was done."

The look on the butler's face suggested quite the opposite, but no further comment was made by either and, after a polite, small bow from Carson, the butler hastily followed the maids, ensuring there were no further calamities with the luggage.

Perhaps Robert would have been less exasperated by this commotion all around if he was not so despondent about going. He did not want to leave Downton and make the long journey down to London only to join the stressful war office. Whilst he did appreciate the chance to serve his country, even if only in this capacity, Robert had always found the trips mentally exhausting and gruelling, especially when he had to play a hand in devising strategies and tactics that poor young men like Matthew would risk their lives fulfilling. Knowing that his involvement in the war office only led unfortunate young soldiers to their deaths was a perpetual weight upon his heart, though at least here at home, seeing his beloved family around, helped alleviate the anguish. His own burden was heavy enough to bear and he couldn't imagine what it must be like for the mothers and fathers and wives of those men who did fight out in the battlefields of France. Seeing the wounded soldiers lying around his home was always a vivid reminder he was unable to shake when he helped the other officers draw up plans and make decisions, so far away in London. Now, Robert knew his time in the war office would be even more arduous, for the memory of Matthew, his heir and friend, lying so badly injured and close to death just a week ago, would be sure to haunt his every thought. He wished that he could take with him more positive news of his cousin's health, but, whilst Matthew was recovering, only time would tell what the long term effects of his injuries would be.

And so it was with a heavy heart that Robert wished his wife and daughters goodbye, standing in a line outside on the gravelled driveway once the car was ready to depart.

"Please come back soon, Robert," Cora pleaded, clutching his hand almost desperately as he gently kissed it.

"I will be back as soon as I can, dear." He tried a comforting smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He turned away from his wife, the sadness in her eyes becoming too much to bear. He knew she worried so when he left, but there were few comforting words he could find. He shuddered for a moment at the thought of how she'd be if he was really travelling to France, or if they had been blessed with a son. A frown crossed his face as his thoughts once more turned to the man who, in many ways, he did view as a son, and the sorrow and shock his injuries had thrown upon them all.

"Don't worry, papa, we'll take care of Matthew while you're away."

Sybil seemed to read his thoughts as he turned towards his daughters and he smiled sadly at them. "I know you will, Sybil." His eyes though, glanced across to Mary and for a moment he saw his own sadness reflected ten fold in her eyes. Her expression hardened a moment later, as soon as she realised he was watching her. It saddened Robert greatly to see his daughter suffering so, though he knew there was little he could do, even if he did stay. He could only hope that, in his absence, Mary would still continue to spend time with Matthew and that they could mend whatever bridges were broken between them.

"And we'll let you know if there's any news," Edith added quickly, trying to draw his attention.

Robert forced a brighter smile on his face as he nodded at his three daughters and walked towards the waiting car, loaded up with luggage presided over by a stern looking Carson, who seemed to be challenging the suitcases to dare to fall.

"My Lord," Carson bowed slightly as he opened the car door and a few minutes later Robert was at the end of the Abbey's great driveway. He never did look back and wave at his family; he knew it would be too painful, even though he felt their eyes upon him until he disappeared out of sight.

It was not just the Crawley's who watched the car leave with a heavy heart, though Anna's melancholy gaze was focused on the front of the car. She didn't like seeing Mr Bates leave, especially when she'd not had chance to say goodbye. Ever since the mysterious letter had arrived for him last week, he'd been avoiding her more than usual, and every time he quietly slipped away when she approached broke her heart a little more. Anna knew that there was something troubling him about the letter and she'd longed to be a comforting friend to him, someone he could talk to and help alleviate his troubles. But Mr Bates had never been one for sharing his thoughts or problems, even before he'd grown so distance towards her, and her few attempts had wielded little success. And now he was gone, for who knew how long, down to London with his Lordship, leaving Anna to only fret and worry for him. A thousand and one theories had poured through her mind and plagued her all week, and now she would have to wait even longer to discover the truth. It didn't help that just that morning another letter had arrived, one quickly stuffed into a pocket, but Anna's sharp eyes had spotted the same, elegant and distinctly female handwriting.

Anna had stayed watching the empty driveway as long as she could, remembering Mr Bates' steadfast look as he'd nodded goodbye at all the servants before climbing into the car before his Lordship. Now, the servants had all but disappeared, the last maid just turning around the corner of the house, heading towards the servants' entrance. The Crawleys had long since gone, Lady Mary leading the way and heading back inside as fast as an elegant lady was allowed. Anna didn't even need to question where the lady was heading in such haste, for Lady Mary had barely left her cousin's bedside all week. Thoughts of her Ladyship's plight were a sombre reminder that her own were of little consequence and she did her best to push the sadness away. Turning around and with hasty footsteps, she quickly headed after the other servants, just managing to catch up to them as they entered the servant's hall. Her tardiness did not go unnoticed by Mrs Hughes, who gave her a questioning, mildly reproachful look, though the housekeeper knew better than to question the head housemaid on the matter.

Anna quickly threw herself into her work, as much to appease the housekeeper as to drown out her own lingering thoughts and sorrow. Work did not continue for long though, for not much sooner had his Lordship left, than the second post arrived. Amongst the usual letters for the different servants, some coming as far as France, there was one letter that held particular interest when Mr Carson asked after Daisy's whereabouts.

"I think she's still building fires in the hospital rooms, Mr Carson," Anna answered, looking up in surprise at the question, before catching sight of the letter in his hand. Like the rest of the servants, Anna knew that there was only really one person who sent the scullery maid letters, and the handwriting did look awfully familiar. "Shall I go and find her, Mr Carson?" Anna asked, her past worries disappearing at the sight of the letter she knew Daisy had been desperately waiting for, for many a week now.

"Yes, if you could, Anna," Mr Carson said, for he was almost as anxious for Daisy to read the letter as the other servants and put decorum on hold, for a moment at least. "But be quick about it, if you will."

Anna didn't need to be told twice and she quickly went in search of her friend, though her quick footsteps were little to do with the butler's order for haste.

She didn't have to go far to find Daisy, who had just appeared at the bottom of the servant's stairs, carrying her heavy tools. Daisy paused as soon as she saw Anna, her face suddenly twisting into one of apprehension.

"A letter's arrived for you, Daisy," Anna quickly explained, eager to alleviate Daisy's worry.

"A… a letter?" The scullery maid repeated, her eyes darting furtively as she gripped her bucket tighter.

Anna nodded eagerly and motioned towards the servant's hall with her hands. Daisy blinked a few times, nervously rooted to the spot, before she quickly continued walking, Anna hot on her heels.

All the servants stopped their work as Daisy appeared, and the sudden attention made her once more still in the doorway, before tentatively moving forwards when Mr Carson beckoned her.

"Have you finished lighting all the fires now, Daisy?" Mr Carson asked, his many years in service dictating proprietary and order even now, though his voice was soft and gentle.

"Y… yes, Mr Carson," a nervous Daisy answered, dropping her bucket and tools in the corner as she walked nearer to the butler.

"A letter came for you just now." He handed the letter to her and she took it gingerly from his hands, gazing in awe at the script on the envelope. As she took it, she fingered the paper nervously, ghosting her fingers over the envelope as it testing it was real. "You may open it now, if you like."

"Th…thank you, Mr Carson." She looked up and smiled weakly in gratitude, before her gaze once more fell to the letter she was fretfully turning over in her hands.

Mr Carson was about to offer the poor girl some privacy, when she suddenly tore the letter open and eagerly read the words before her, sinking down onto the nearby bench.

The rest of the servants watched her just as eagerly, their breath held as they tried to read the news from Daisy's capricious expression as she read and reread the cherished letter.

"It's from William!" Her excited voice ran through the hall and the servants leant closer in expectation. "He… he mentions his broken leg, and lots about Mr Crawley's aid, but… but… He's alright!" Daisy's hands were shaking now, her heart pounding in her ears at this wonderful news she struggled to believe was real. She felt tears of relief start to fall, but she tried to bite them down, not wanting a single tear to fall upon William's glorious handwriting. When Anna came up to her a moment later though, and wrapped her in a comforting hug, Daisy let the tears flow forth.

"Well, that is certainly good to hear," Mrs Hughes proclaimed, speaking for all the servants, the relief and joy in the air palpable.

"He... he's been given some leave." Daisy hiccupped after the initial wave of tears had passed. "He wants to come to Downton, do you… do you think that'll be alright?" The innocent yearning in her voice would be enough to move even the coldest of hearts and Mr Carson was quick to answer her, "I'm sure that won't be a problem."

"Thank you, thank you!" Daisy suddenly moved towards the butler, as if to hug him in her excitement, but stopped herself in time and nervously curtseyed instead.

Mr Carson looked quite befuddled for a moment at Daisy's response and hastily added, "Now, I can't promise anything, Daisy. I will have to ask her Ladyship first."

Daisy nodded fervently, even this slight delay having no effect on her euphoria. She read the joyous letter again, slower this time, and for a moment her brow furrowed in confusion. "He mentions the chauffeur, Branson. Says he met him and Branson wants to visit us with him."

That was startling news to Mr Carson and all the servants, for they had heard little of the chauffeur since he'd left them last year to join an Irish regiment. They'd heard of his welfare through a few, scant letters to Bates, but, unlike William, he did not have a reason to write to Downton often, nor to pay it a visit on leave. That the chauffeur would ask to visit the Abbey was a perplexing mystery to Mr Carson, though he supposed it would hardly cause them any trouble. "Well, I will ask her Ladyship about Branson as well." He stood up then and looked around at the rest of the servants, his gaze turning harder as he silently reprimanded them all. Though he was relieved at William's letter and the news of his intended visit, he could not tolerate idle servants and standards spilling, not when there was work to be done. Quickly, they turned away and made themselves busy, though there was much gossip and excitement in the air.

He turned towards Daisy, his gaze softer now, but still mildly stern. "Perhaps you could wait and reply when I have spoken to her Ladyship? And may I show her your letter?"

"Yes, Mr Carson," Daisy answered, handing over the letter quickly, as automatically as if she'd been given an order.

Mr Carson glanced at Anna and the intelligent young housemaid soon picked up his meaning.

"Come along, Daisy, let me help you put these things back." She led the still shaking girl away, rubbing her shoulders comfortingly and doing most of the work, lifting up the heavy bucket and cloths used to build the fires. In fact, Anna ended up doing most of the work for the scullery maid that day, though she didn't mind. Seeing her friends face constantly break into a beaming smile was a welcome sight for Anna and a mild relief from her own melancholy.

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_Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Apologies again for the massive wait for this chapter, and for the lack of Mary/Matthew. Don't worry, that'll be more than made up for in future chapters! ;-)_


	20. Chapter 20

_So I can only majorly apologise once again for such a long delay in writing this chapter. I'm afraid I can't blame writer's block this time, it was because I got dragged into another fandom! I started reading the Hunger Game trilogy about a month ago and it's rather taken over my life since then! For those of you that have read it, I'm sure you'll understand. If you haven't, as soon as you finish this chapter, go and read them! They're amazing!_

_Anyway, as this chapter update shows I've definitely not abandoned this story. I do have a lot more planned and still love Downton Abbey and Mary/Matthew a lot! I do hope to update much quicker now, so I hope you still continue to read._

_So thanks for all your patience with all these delays, and I hope you enjoy reading this chapter. More is on it's way soon I hope and I'd love to know what you think._

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He continued forwards through the thick, stinking mud, trying to see ahead through the sheets of rain and shrapnel pouring down around him. The rain was icy cold and it sank into his boots and soaked under his uniform, leaving him shivering. His feet slipped in the quagmire and he had to readjust his gun and pack as they lurched forwards with him. He turned his head from side to side, trying to take in all the commotion around him, trying to discover where the danger lay. His arms and hands spoke instructions to his men, following obediently behind him. They started to shout out to him, and he knew it was something important, a warning, so he turned his head and tried to listen, but their words were lost in the cacophony of destruction all around them. The sounds of the explosions were still ringing in his ears and only the perpetual hammering of gunfire and the wails and screams of men penetrated through. And one familiar voice. A voice he could not place, but which kept him moving forwards, deeper and deeper into the battlefield. A voice twisted in pain and calling him like a siren to his death.

Bullets shot around him, the air started to become thick with smoke and it burned into his eyes and throat, choking him and bringing forth acid tears. He looked back, but he could not see any one of his men and he knew not whether they were lost to the smoke or to the death that haunted them all. He didn't have time to stop and find out; the voice was still calling him. It was growing in intensity now, the howling pain vibrating through the air and through his bones, pulling him towards it.

The mud beneath his boots was thickening, deepening, and he was sinking into it, slipping and sliding, every step a trial as he tried to reach the voice. Broken, twisted bodies marred his way and he made the mistake of looking down. Their hollowed faces and sunken eyes stared back at him, the bones jutting out and seeping with blood and mud. The exposed jaws started to move, to echo the sound of the familiar voice until it rang deafeningly in the air, battering his senses. The rain was pouring down heavier now, only it wasn't rain, it was thick and blood red, filling the air with a sickeningly sweet coppery scent. It ran down his face and choked his mouth, filled his eyes and darkened everything to a blood red stain. It mixed with the mud all around until it was like quicksand and he could no longer move. He was sinking, quickly, the blood and mud reaching his knees, his waist, his chest.

But still the voice was calling, wailing, burning through his senses and echoing around his mind. He scrambled for purchase, flailing his arms above him as he tried to push himself forwards, tried to get to the voice, tried to get to… to… _her_. He recognised the voice now and he surged forwards. He had to get to her, had to find her and save her, had to stop her howling cries of pain. He made it two steps before he tripped, his face crashing down into the mud, his hand hitting a head buried there. The face turned towards him, half its skin seared away, the stark whiteness of bone so vivid against the blood and mud. Its jaw moved with all the others, echoing back her voice until it was too much and he had to hold his hands to his ears to stop it. But the howls were etched into his mind now and the skull was moving closer towards him. The skin was crawling with maggots and the jaw and empty eye sockets were pouring with blood and mud. The features started to twist until it became as familiar as the voice, the strong cheekbones, the firm chin, the jawline curved into an amused, teasing smile. He screwed his eyes shut but the face remained, burned into his brain.

The mud was rising higher and higher, reaching his face, pouring into his mouth and choking him. He coughed, tried to stand up, to escape this quicksand, to reach the voice, to reach _her_. But he could not move and, with a final choking breath, cut off only by the thickening mud and blood, he screamed out to her, "Mary!"

* * *

_"It's alright, Matthew. It's alright."_

The voice. Distant, but he heard it and this time it wasn't howling in pain, but soft, gentle, reassuring. He forced his eyes open and no longer did her decaying face fill his vision, flowing with blood and mud. Instead it was perfect, hovering over him like an angel, the light streaming around her dark hair almost blinding. He blinked, trying to push away the terrifying images from before. Then he looked around and no longer saw the blood red rain or the thick, sticky mud. Instead there were pale blue walls, a large room lit with sunlight and the sides of an elegant four poster bed.

"It's alright, Matthew. It was just a nightmare." Her voice was louder this time, stronger and drowning out the cries and howls and gunfire. "You're safe now, safe in Downton."

Safe. Nightmare. Downton. Mary! Matthew suddenly jerked upwards, fully awake now, the pain that vibrated through him proof enough of that. It was just a nightmare, like so many times before. And he was safe, here at the Abbey. And Mary was safe too, she was not howling in pain on the battlefield. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing the images and sounds and scents of the horrific nightmare away. Mary was here, like she was every time he awakened from the nightmares that had plagued him nearly every time he slept now, ever since his body had recovered enough from the fever and his sleep was no more too deep. Nightmares of blood and mud, death and gunfire, explosions and pain ripping through him. Sometimes it was of his men, seeing their bodies shatter into oblivion as the shells exploded around them. Sometimes it was of himself, drowning in the thick mud or filled with bullets. And so often he was chasing the voice, that familiar voice he could never reach which took on so many forms; his mother, William, those of his new family… But usually it was her voice he heard, howling with pain and too far away for him to save her. And always, _always_, it was her face he saw when the nightmare scared him awake. Her hand resting on his shoulder, trying to shake him from the dream and her other clutching around his so tightly, their fingers tightly entwined. "Just a nightmare?"

Mary nodded, her smile warm and finally chasing away the last frightening tendrils of his nightmare. She helped him sit up, packing a few pillows behind him. Then, she started to slip away, like she did every morning he awaked like this. Her hand slipping from his shoulder as she moved back, her fingers untwining from his own. And just like every time, Matthew longed to tighten his grip, to stop her pulling away and to pull her closer instead. But he couldn't, for just like after every nightmare he'd awakened from, reality spilled in and with it came the distance, the wedge forcing itself between them. So he let her sit back, let her maintain that distance, that barrier that told him firmly she was here as a friend, a cousin, nothing more.

Repeating the words in his mind helped calm his rapid pulse and his body slowly calmed from the effects of the nightmare. As reality took a firmer hold of his mind he was reminded of what day it was and asked, anxiously, "Your father, has he left yet?"

"I'm afraid so, he went about half an hour ago," Mary answered.

"You should have woken me in time, Mary," Matthew softly chided. He had hoped to speak to the Earl before he left for London and had asked the Earl, his mother and Mary to wake him in time.

"I'm sorry Matthew, but we didn't think it best to disturb your sleep…" Her voice drifted off for a minute, both of them thinking that disruption from sleep, preventing that awful nightmare, would have actually been a blessing. "I'm sure Papa knows what you wanted to discuss," Mary continued, her voice less confident this time.

Perhaps, Matthew thought, but not all of it. His own displeasure of Lord Grantham investigating both his injuries and his actions preceding them were well known, but there was something else he wanted to ask Mary's father. He wanted him to withdraw the obligation he'd given to his daughter. For Matthew had quickly deduced that this was the reason Mary had stayed with him this past week, sitting with him during the day, looking after him in his still weakened state, waking him from his nightmares. She did not sleep any more in this room, and his mother had already moved to the room next door, but Mary was always there when he awoke in the mornings, helping him to push away his nightmares and holding his hand.

Matthew remained silent though, he knew better than to mention this obligation to Mary herself; he didn't want to offend her when their friendship was slowly recovering. They were able to get along well enough now, as long as they only discussed the books she read to him, or talked about the weather, or the family and the servants. They rarely mentioned the war, or his injuries, or their tumultuous past together. Mary knew better than to ask about his nightmares, too, and why so often he would awaken, shouting her name.

And Matthew enjoyed her company, far more than he knew was healthy. There was little else to do, stuck in this bed in the Abbey. He couldn't even read or eat properly by himself; his arms were still too weak. Mary helped keep the boredom at bay, chased away the desperation he felt when he thought of the war still raging across the Channel, or his own injuries and future still hanging so precariously. His mother would visit him, of course, but she didn't have the time to read to him, coming in only to help him eat, or to help the nurses tend to his wounds. And he knew the rest of the family found it uncomfortable to be around him for long, that they didn't really know what say or how to act. Whereas Mary was always there, rarely leaving his side and keeping him company. But Matthew knew he shouldn't want her to be there, didn't want her to feel obligated to help him because he was the future earl, her cousin, and because her father had obviously asked her too. There were already too many reasons Mary had for resenting him, from his very presence in her life, stealing her fortune, to the way he knew he must have embarrassed her, withdrawing his proposal like he had.

Still, Mary never seemed to look annoyed at having to stay with him. In fact, her patience with him in all his despondent and irritable moods surprised him. She always managed to smile so warmly, to comfort him after his nightmares and to sit and read to him throughout the day. The routine, this weak friendship they'd built between them was comforting, but it also made him wary. He couldn't let himself hope that it may, one day, turn into more, for once he was recovered enough, Mary would no longer be under the obligation from her father to look after the future earl of Downton. And he knew well enough that she, of all people, was the master of pretence. And so he wanted to cut short this friendship before the hope set in too deeply, had wanted her father to talk to her and release her from this duty she'd been unfairly given.

Matthew had been silent for a few moments now and Mary was growing anxious. She knew they should have woken him before her father left, but he'd looked so peaceful in his sleep and her father had determined best to leave him be. Yet the nightmares had come. Mary had returned a scarce few moments before she started to see Matthew's body convulse and twist in distress, his face distorting and his mouth opening in silent screams only he could hear. It must have been a bad nightmare too, for Mary had been unable to wake him. Every time she'd called his name his face had contorted into more agony. She had been on the verge of crying out for help herself, when Matthew had finally awakened, his lips forming her name in such an animalistic howl Mary felt the terror of it vibrate into her very soul. She could not even begin to imagine what horrific dreams had assaulted him and left him in such agony. Mary knew all about the effects of shell shock of course, so often did the soldiers in the hospital wake up screaming, the bodies riddled with tension and sweat and their eyes wide with fear. But to see it on Matthew, her beloved Matthew, was almost too much to bear, and it was only the knowledge that he needed her here, when he awoke, needed her to chase away the nightmare that gave her the strength to remain.

Now he was watching her carefully, his face hard and determined, almost accusatory. He was obviously annoyed he had not been woken up and Mary was sure there was something he wanted to tell her. She was too afraid to ask though. Their friendship was too precarious as it was; a misplaced word here or a wrong move there easily tipped it back into animosity. And Mary didn't want that, as safe as she knew it to be. She'd begun to rely too much on Matthew's regard again, began to hope that at the very least they could rekindle their friendship. The few times he made her laugh as they talked, or cheerfully disagreed as they discussed a book she was reading to him, always warmed her heart. And though Mary knew she couldn't allow herself to hope for anything more, she did allow herself the luxury of this uncertain friendship. If only because Matthew seemed to need it almost as much as her. Or at least she thought so, but the tension that was building around them now and the determined way Matthew held his jaw as he watched her, made her question even that. She tried to think of something entertaining to say, to prove the need of her presence here still, but her mind remained blank. She was saved a moment later by the door suddenly opening and a young nurse entering, carrying a tray of food and drink.

"Oh, I'm sorry, m'Lady," the nurse quickly apologised, doing her best to curtsy whilst keeping the tray of food steady. "I didn't realise you were in here." She looked with embarrassment between the food on the tray, the patient in the bed and the grand Lady seated beside it. She did not know what to do and Mary knew she should put the poor nurse out of her misery and leave her to complete her duties. The nurse's face did look familiar though, more so than the other nurses, and Mary tried to place it. She examined the nurse and saw her cheeks glow redder with embarrassment and her feet shift nervously on the spot. Suddenly Mary remembered it, from that horrific night just over a week ago. She was the nurse who had come to tell them that a Matthew Crawley had arrived, injured. And now she was here to help Matthew eat his breakfast. But Mary didn't want to leave Matthew, not when their friendship was teetering on the edge once more. And it was the least she could do, helping Matthew and relieving this nurse from one of her many duties. The fact that she was also young and quite pretty didn't escape Mary's notice.

Instead, standing up, Mary answered, "It's alright." She smiled at the nurse brightly and walked over to take the tray from her hands, "I can do that."

The nurse looked aghast at even the thought and had circumstances been different, Mary would have found it highly amusing. "But… but Matron told me I was to bring the food up, m'Lady." The nurse's voice grew in confidence as she continued, "To make sure Captain Crawley ate breakfast as Mrs Crawley is busy helping out with the new soldiers that arrived."

"It's quite alright, Nurse…"

"Susan, m'Lady."

"Nurse Susan." Mary took hold of the tray and began prying it from the nurse' fingers, "I can take care of it. I'm sure you have many more important duties to do."

"Yes, m'Lady." The nurse quickly answered, reminding Mary of the servants as they answered to Carson. The nurse quickly realised her mistake and looked nervously at Matthew before turning towards Mary again. "I mean, this is an important duty, one Matron herself asked to be completed. But I do have other things to do..." Her fingers started to grip tighter to the tray, stopping Mary from taking a proper hold.

"And your Matron is right!" Mary exclaimed, smiling even more brightly and pulling harder on the tray. "But I'm sure she will appreciate the help."

The nurse looked anxiously between the tray and Lady Mary, unsure which would be the lesser of the two evils to face; the grand Lady holding on so determinedly to the tray or her Matron's scowl when she learnt she'd not only gone against her orders, but allowed one of the Ladies of the house to do the chore. Lady Mary did not look like she would back down though and seemed the greater threat at present. "Yes, m'Lady." She quickly let go of the tray, causing it to tip precariously and the water to slosh over the sides of the glass. She felt her cheeks burn hotter and she quickly curtsied, nodded her head at both Captain Crawley and Lady Mary, before turning around and hurrying out.

A triumphant look crossed Mary's face as she looked at the tray in her hands and it was only as she turned around towards the bed that she noticed Matthew's face. He was looking at her curiously and Mary anxiously wondered if she'd been a bit too insistent over being allowed to complete this task. She was faced with another, more imminent problem though, the fact that she'd never yet helped Matthew to eat his food. Always, his mother had helped him, cutting up the food and holding the knife and fork. For with his broken right arm in a plaster cast and the deep cut in his left still full of stitches, Matthew found eating by himself next to impossible.

Mary remembered the first time she'd watched Cousin Isobel feeding Matthew. Even then it had been awkward enough, with all three feeling the embarrassment. And Mary also remembered how the food had been too much for him and he had lurched over the side of the bed, about to be sick. Mary had only just managed to grab the bowl nearby and hold it in front of him in time, which had only made the whole experience even more difficult for them all. From the expression of embarrassment and concern on Matthew's face, Mary had a good feeling that he was remembering the experience himself. And now Mary would have to manage by herself. Still, how hard could it? She fixed her brightest smile to her face and approached the bed, keeping her voice light and cheerful as she said, "So then, Captain Crawley, what can I tempt you to eat for breakfast?"


End file.
